Secrecy
by justtestingmyboundaries
Summary: ExA intended 3-shot, A glimpse in the 4th book, the scene where Eragon is tortured. not the full 4th book, only a particular rendition of that scene. Set immediately after the funeral rite's of Oromis and Glaedr. Warning: Graphic torture sequences.
1. Chapter 1

(A/N poem is Propertius's love poem)

Secrecy

"Eragon Shadeslayer!"

He looked up at his unfortunate sparring trainer…master…instructor…whatever Vanir was to him.

Sparring with the elf would have been a great way to increase his skills, however, it was seldom just Vanir. The elf had a series of tests. Sometimes, Eragon faced as many as five elves at one time if Vanir was in a bad mood, four if he was in a better than bad mood.

To say the elves were less than pleased with the Rider since Oromis's ebirthil death would be a gross understatement. They seemed to think it was Eragon's fault the pride of their forests' lay dead on a battlefield. Hell, sometimes Eragon agreed it was.

_Stop thinking useless thoughts and keep your mind sharp. You know better than to think like this. _

_Yes, Saphira. _

It was for the best, really, her advice. For in front of him were three highly capable elves moving to surround him. Two remained dangerously close to entering the fray, a hand itching to go for their swords as they watched the sparring match with hateful eyes masked only by their indifference. He pushed his blade against the first elf's attack, successfully drawing him in. Lashing out with his legs, the Rider spun on the ground and knocked the elf over on his back. However, numbers played against him and before he could incapacitate the elf, his partners began their onslaught on his defenses. He was pushed further and further back, the coldness of his opponent's eyes getting to him. Eragon sighed, he had to move fast.

Giving himself some space, he flipped himself over his opponents and hit one of the legs available to him with the back of his blade, breaking the warrior's shin. Barely waiting, he flicked his sword up and muttered 'dead' before quickly gaining his position again.

Blocking a strong swipe his way, Eragon kicked another elf in the stomach causing him to fly a great distance away. His sword was too far away to move into position in time, so Eragon did the only logical thing and punched his last opponent in the nose. There was a lot of blood and a grunt of pain, but Eragon had finished him and went to finish the job with the elf on the ground.

"Impressive display of swordsmanship, Shadeslayer. I think you have mastered the skills of unhindered swordplay."

A thickly veiled insult if he ever heard one. _Unhindered, my foot! _Every sword was drawn and the metal reflection was moved to shine in his eyes. But he was better than responding to Vanir's taunts or the elves' actions.

"I believe we shall move onto a more difficult task."

Eragon narrowed his eyebrows before looking at Saphira for any hint at what that could be. She had no idea. He turned around to his sparring master.

Vanir held out a thick black blindfold.

"You shall have to use your hearing and only your hearing to defeat your opponents."

He knew the elves were angry, but this was ridiculous.

_Eragon! Be careful of what you say. _

_I have no choice, Saphira. I must do as he says. He is my sparring master. And I cannot do anything to protect myself under my ally's wrath. If we do not follow every action, Islanzadi will pull her elves back into the forest after this loss, just as she did when Arya was captured. _

She sent her disagreement, saying there must have been some other way, but remained silent after.

"Very well, Vanir – elda."

"I understand you feel you may not be ready for this step. But have only a few days until the _funeral rites_ are over and you must be ready when you leave Ellesmera again."

The malice was apparent with his stressed words. He almost spat them at him, cutting a sword over his heavy heart. His logic was impeccable, except for his tone of absolute contempt as if he had somehow bested the Rider.

Eragon took the cloth from his master and tied it tightly over his eyes. Drawing Brisingr, he felt his way around the ground until he came across the familiar ends of the sparring ring. The tip of his sword grazed against the rink, eliciting sparks to leave the metal.

"Are you ready, Shadeslayer?"

"Yes, elda."

"We shall start slow, one opponent only and then you will work your way up."

"Yes, elda."

"And before we start, I would like to make it clear that any help from Saphira shall only hinder this learning experience."

"Yes, elda."

_Hear that, Eragon, I hinder you. _

_He did not mean it like that and you know it. _

_Must you always look at the positive side of his words. _

_Do not help me, Saphira. _

_Fine, but if you get hurt, do not come crying to me. If they insult you, however, they will have hell to pay for this._

The exercise would have been much easier if his opponents were human men, as they would make some noise. But these were elves, and they hardly made any noise.

The first blade was blocked by a nice spot underneath his jaw.

"You are incapable of protecting yourself. It seems you are not capable of this type of swordplay."

He felt the warm trickle of blood down his neck, wetting the space in between his skin and his Rider's clothes. His opponent must have forgotten to block his blade. Feeling rather embarrassed and quite angry at this utter display of hatred, Eragon pulled his sword up and listened even harder for any sounds. A boot hit the ground roughly next to him, and Eragon sprung into action, attacking that spot.

But he was a few nanoseconds too late. He felt a strong kick in his stomach and he hit his head against the hard ground roughly. Eragon tried standing up, but his head was spinning horribly.

_Eragon! _

He ignored the pleas of his dragon and tried in vain to put his sword in front of him. A blade cut across his chest producing a long gash, while another came siphoning down his back. An impact to his shin cracked the bone in half. He cried out in pain and fell to the ground.

He faintly heard the blade rising in the air before a voice stopped it.

"Enough!"

The blindfold was taken off of his head, but he was already losing consciousness because of concussion in his head. He felt a soft hand slip under his head, observing his eyes. He faintly saw the outline of black raven hair and emerald eyes before his sight went black.

Night had fallen when he finally opened his eyes again. The injuries were taken care of, but someone had instructed he put to sleep to rest his tired body. Pulling the covers off, he had towards the wash closet and splashed his eyes with water before sliding down the wall in frustration.

The cold wall against his back was the only indication his back was bare.

He thought back towards the day and slammed his arm against the hard wall. A tear leaked down his face.

_It wasn't my fault! It wasn't my damn fault. I loved him more than all of you. He was just a matter of pride for you. I loved him! He was more than a father to me…more than father. _

He put his head in his arms, drawing his knees in and silently let the tears stream down. His shoulders stayed still, as to not alert any one looking in of his distress. He was never meant for this life, never.

A knock on the door resounded a few moments later. With a lethargy he didn't know possible, Eragon opened it up before clearing his face of the salty water.

"Arya Drottningu."

He face held poorly hid surprise, but he quickly masked it and proceeded with the appropriate greeting.

"Atra esterní ono thelduin."

"Mor'ranr lífa unin hjarta onr."

"Un du evarínya ono varda."

He stood silently at the door, waiting for her to speak, when she did not he moved away from the door.

"Would you like to come in?"

"Of course."

She stepped lithely inside…not making a sound. He inwardly groaned as he thought back to his earlier failure.

"Forgive my appearance, Arya svit-kona. I was not expecting your company."

He pulled out a soft green tunic from the chest by his bed and pulled it carelessly over his head. His statement was left unanswered.

"What can I do for you, Arya svit-kona? Am I needed in Queen Islanzadi's council meeting?"

She shook her head before looking around the room.

"It has changed since the last I have been here."

_Many things have changed since the last you have been here. _

"I was tired of coming home to a place I found boring."

She let in a ghost of a smile.

It was true. Eragon had put fairths all over the bare walls, giving them some décor. His favorite was of the view of Crags with Saphira flying over the large valley. The peace and serenity was of a caliber unreachable to him. However, a close second was the large fairth of the Tialdari Hall gardens where he and Arya stood on a small bridge over a small stream that ran through the gardens.

Here, Arya stopped to look the longest. An indescribable look on her face.

Perhaps she did not like it here. She was his closest friend, but maybe a fairth of their memories together in her favorite place may give her the wrong impression.

"I shall remove it if you prefer. I merely liked the gardens."

She furrowed her eyebrows when she looked at him.

"Do not. It is beautiful."

She offered no further comment on the matter. Moving around the room, she fingered her way over the binding of a few books on his small shelf above the desk. Moving a few papers around, she pulled out a few pieces of parchment with ink halfway down them.

Arya looked at him expectantly, springing him out of the awe her uninhibited wandering through his room and his things.

He stepped closer, peering to get a closer look. He was, perhaps, closer than necessary. But she made no move away when he came centimeters from her body.

"Ah, those. Ever since that poem was received well during the Blood – Oath celebration, Oromis – ebirthil encouraged delving into more poetry. I tried my hand at a few topics, but for some reason, I simply cannot finish them well."

Her eyes moved over a few lines here and there, before moving from parchment to parchment. She finally stopped when she reached one with an abundance of ink.

_I have no fear now of the gloomy spirits, Cynthia,_

_Nor do I mind about the destiny that is owed to the final pyre_

_But that perchance my funeral may lack your love – _

_This fear I find harsher than the rites of death themselves._

_Not so lightly has Cupid clung to my eyes_

Her hands pulled it out slightly more until the rest was revealed.

_That my dust could be void and forgetful of love._

_There in the regions of the darkness the hero Protesilaus_

_Could not be unmindful of his sweet wife,_

_But, desirous to reach his joy with illusory hands,_

_The Thesselian came to his ancient home a shade._

_There, whatever I shall be, I shall always be your image._

_Great love crosses even the shores of death_

_There, thought that band of fabled beauties come,_

_The heroines which the booty of Tyro bestowed upon the heroes of Greece—_

_The beauty of none of these will please me more than yours, Cynthia_

_And (may just Earth allow this to be so)_

_Through the fate of a long old age should delay you,_

_Dear to me, to my tears of welcome, will be your bones._

_May you when living have the same feeling for my ashes._

_Then death would have no bitterness for me anywhere._

_How I fear that, my tomb despised,_

_Unfriendly Love may drag you away from my dust_

_And compel you against your will to dry your falling tears._

_The most loyal of girls is swayed by constant threats._

_Wherefore, while it is possible, let us love and be glad together._

_Love is not long enough in any extent of time_

She looked up from the poem at his form laying down on bed. He was reading a scroll and seemed unaware that she had finished reading his work.

"Is this poem finished, Shadeslayer?"

"Which one?"

But he already moved up from the bed and looked at the words.

"Yes," he replied, "all but the title."

"Cynthia?"

"I do not even know a Cynthia. I needed a name. Saphira chose Cynthia."

He cocked his head to the side, seemingly delving into his earlier memories.

"Although, come to think of it. She might have said 'sink the ear.' Or something unusual. I think she was awake then, but I cannot be so sure."

A twitch of her lips signaled a rare smile, but it vanished and he correctly moved back to the bed…away from her.

She flipped through a few more pages to look for any others.

"Please sit down, Arya svit-kona. I cannot imagine standing and reading abysmal attempts at poetry could be more entertaining than sitting and reading them."

She took a seat in his wooden chair at his desk.

"On the contrary, Shadeslayer, your poetry is quite good. Excellent I would say. It was a beautiful poem."

He raised his eyebrows, but accepted the compliment.

"Thank you. But you would be one of the few."

"Somehow I doubt that."

But her voice was so soft he could barely tell if she had even spoken.

"Arya svit-kona?"

She looked up from her current inspection of another of his poems.

"Not that I mind the company, but was there a specific reason you sought me tonight?"

She haphazardly put the parchments on his desk in a smooth disarray.

"I wanted to see how you were doing from today's sparring."

He shook his head once in understanding.

"I thought I saw you. I know it was you who stopped Vanir from attacking again, but I could not be sure it was you I saw before I fell unconscious. Thank you for that."

She looked up in surprise.

"There is no need."

Arya looked away, tracing the outline of the parchment that held the poem she read. It was as if the words kept on drawing her attention away from the conversation at hand.

"I am well now. I merely must improve."

She tore her eyes away from the parchment and looked at him.

"Actually, you did quite well for the first time. Most cannot stay on their feet wielding a heavy piece of metal with no resistance. Most do not even attempt to learn that kind of swordsmanship."

He nodded, "But in any case, I must get better."

"Eragon…"

The use of his name surprised him. She rarely did use it, and only when she was saying something personal.

"I am sorry for Vanir's and the others' behavior. I knew the elves would not be so kind to you during the funeral rites. However, I greatly misjudged their misplaced anger. I do not think I can explain to all of them that it was not your fault. I am sorry for that."

He looked away, a ghost of a sad smile etched on his features before nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders.

"That is nothing to be sorry for. And in a way, I do deserve the punishment."

"It was not your fault. There was nothing you could have done."

"I should have let Murtagh go when I had the chance. He wanted to leave, wanted nothing to do with the Varden. But I insisted he stay with me, thinking it was a danger to me if I let him out of my sight. I failed to realize that he who evaded the Empire for so long could do so better than me."

"It was not your fault."

Her repeated words did little to mend his broken heart, but he appreciated the gesture.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Shadeslayer? Anything at all to make this trip not all bad memories."

He chuckled, "Not getting along with your mother well?"

In his defense, he looked mortified after he said it.

"I am sorry, Arya svit-kona, I should never have-"

But she gracefully cut him off with a small laugh. A sound he could never tire of hearing.

"What was the first sign?"

He smiled and looked away as she studied the parchment for a third time during their conversation.

"There is something, however."

She looked at him, her expression carefully blank.

"I…it would be…I…"

"It is a blessing your writing is more articulate than your words."

He laughed at her, knowing her jest was made in good humor. It served well to light the tension he had.

"Well, in a more articulate manner, I wanted to ask if you would help me learn to fight with my eyes blindfolded."

"Yes, I will."

He looked at her in surprise.

"Thank you, Arya svit-kona."

She gathered herself and moved towards the door.

"Will you at least stay for a cup of tea?"

Arya narrowed her eyebrows, "I hardly think it becoming to drink tea before sparring, Shadeslayer."

"We are going now?"

"Did you need more rest than the eight hours you have slept since afternoon?"

"No…not at all."

He gave her a small smile before attached Brisingr to his side and following her out. She led him towards an unguarded patch in the woods. She pulled a pot from the base of a tree and threw the rope so it hung ten feet in the air.

"Close your eyes."

He did so, only to feel the touches of soft cloth of his eyes and her hands deftly moving at the back of his head tying it together.

"The way to succeed in this type of battle is not to react to sounds that are obviously made to attack you, but to appropriately listen to all sounds. A blade moving in the air creates a sound. You must be able to hear it. Footsteps can tell you the exact position of your opponent. A lack of noise can tell you volumes. A body twisting in the air can also be determined."

Her voice kept on surrounding him, sometimes closer, sometimes farther. She was encircling him.

She walked a little closer to him, standing underneath the pot. And pulled on a string.

"This pot has water in it. A drop of water has a distinct sound. When you hear it, you must slice the droplet in half. Only then will you have the perfect timing and hearing required for this type of battle."

The leaves did not rustle when she glided over them, but her movement he sensed because of the faint reduction of the intensity of her unique pinecone scent.

"Now start. The first drop has already fallen."

It would be utterly pointless to slash around like a madman, so he waited and waited. Slowly expanding his sense of hearing beyond their normal capabilities. He slowed his mind down, reducing its thinking to a minimum as he focused on his surroundings. He listened.

Crickets chirped here and there, nothing out of the ordinary. A wolf howled in the distance. The wind rustled the leaves beneath him, occasionally bringing the scent of pinecones his way, distracting him momentarily.

He descended deeper into his senses. Crouching down, he lowered his body in concentration, his pose almost meditative. He noiselessly drew his sword and waited for any progress.

And finally, finally he heard. His heartbeat became louder and louder, and so did a steady one close by.

Arya's.

He smiled.

Every scratch a rough leaf had on its fallen companion reached his ears. His breathing became more and more apparent and his apparent motionless companion's breath fell loudly on his ears. It was his only indication that she actually did breath, other than the fact she was alive.

And finally he heard something else. Past those outwardly sounds he heard the slow clank of a drop of water rustling a leaf beneath it. The crackling sound became more and more apparent.

_To the left. _

_No, now to the right. _

_There it is, right in front._

He timed the distance and raised his flaming sword. The crackling of fire not disturbing his hearing at all. In one smooth movement, he slashed through the air. Carefully, he ran a hand over the blade and felt the moisture in the middle of his blade. Tearing the blindfold off, he looked at his flameless sword.

"I did it!"

His exclamation was not exclusive. Looking at his teacher, he smiled broadly.

"Thank you, Arya svit-kona."

She smiled at him.

"You are done for today. But I expect you here tonight once again. You took nearly an hour to hear it. You must do so faster next time."

"Yes, elda."

She looked at him sharply, "Do not call me elda."

He looked alarmed at her outburst at his address of respect.

"I shall make that mistake again, but may I ask why that title of respect angers you so?"

She looked away, the tips of her ears with a twinge of red.

"I believe it makes me sound old."

Eragon raised his eyebrows and looked away, saying nothing.

"And you shall not repeat this to anyone."

He motioned to his lips, as if locking it with a key and throwing the key away.

But he could not contain himself for long.

"Really though? Because it makes you sound old."

She narrowed her eyebrows at him.

"I believe you said you would not speak of it to anyone."

"Yes, but it is you. Vanir is younger than you, and he does not mind elda."

"You would compare me to a young, pompous, rather vain Elvin warrior whose prefers to praise himself before anyone else. Yes, I suppose he would like to be called with respect."

The Rider held his hands up in surrender.

"I shall never call you elda again." His words in the Ancient Language put a small smile on her face, but she kept walking.

"Tea, Arya svit-kona?"

"No, not this late. I should rest."

"May I walk you to your home?"

She glanced his way, "I am quite capable of escorting myself."

Thinking quickly, he chose his words.

"I would have offered the same to your mother or a small child on the streets. It is not that you are not capable of doing so, but I do not believe you should have to. No matter how powerful a lady is, I do believe she must be treated with same respect. Even if she is more likely to save my life than I am hers."

Arya let out a small smile.

"Very well, come with me then."

They walked in easy silence, their only mutterings of how beautiful the marked moon was in the starry sky. Soon after, Tialdari Hall came into view.

Eragon could not be sure, but it seemed that his companion had imperceptibly slowed her pace as her home neared. But even the slowness could not stop the inevitable. They stopped at the large door.

"Good night, Eragon."

He smiled at her.

"Good night, Arya svit-kona."

She turned away, but he called her back.

"Wait, I forgot to give you this."

He stepped up a few stairs and handed her the soft cloth. But her fingers curled around his, enclosing the material in his hand.

"Keep it. You will need it these coming nights."

And with that, she turned away leaving him standing at her vanishing figure. Swallowing, he turned around and left the door, a skip in his step he knew not.

How such happiness could erupt from once such pain he did not know. His love was just as deep as it was before. That was no doubt. But every moment in her presence and every word she spoke made his heart skip a beat and soon he was moving around the deserted wood with a large smile on his face. One he could not even wipe from his face.

With no desire to sleep, he slumped back in the chair where her scent of pinecones remained strongest in the room.

He pulled his chair closer to his desk and the poem Arya had praised.

In his elegant handwriting, he addressed the work to her.

_Dear Arya svit-kona, _

_May you enjoy this work for the centuries to come and longer. _

_Your friend, _

_Eragon_

Satisfied, he pulled a beautiful ribbon, cutting the appropriate length and tied up the parchment like a gift. Placing it on his desk, he blew out the candles and fell into a deep sleep. He awoke reenergized the next morning.

Meeting Vanir by the sparring rings, he tied the blind fold around his eyes and tried to achieve the same depth in hearing. Vanir was getting impatient, but he still made his master wait…and finally, after twenty minutes, he descended into that deeper hearing.

"I am ready."

The first attack came shortly after, no warning whatsoever. But not to worry. Eragon could hear the movements. He blocked and parried, attacking only ever so often only to gain his bearings. Eragon was doing fine, he was at a stalemate. But a little miscalculation landed him on his back as he hit the outer edge of the ring he was encircled in. Feeling a cool blade against his neck, he heard the smirk of his opponent.

"Dead."

Sighing, he pulled his blind fold off and bowed to his master before redoing the knot and starting once again. He came back with bruises on his back from the various places he fell. Night fell and he made his way over to the patch in the woods. His teacher was already waiting for him, her eyes flashing a bright green against the night sky. Her eyes held their own lights, their own fire within them making light unnecessary to see them in the dark night.

"You have improved greatly. I watched you spar. However, you must learn to mind your surroundings. You cannot see, but your opponent can. Your opponent will avoid all the areas you must avoid as well. Follow your opponent's lead, push him back and he will lead you away from areas of danger."

She walked over to him, pulling the soft cloth from his hands gently. Slowly, she turned him around with a hand on his shoulder and tied the blindfold behind his head. A delicate hand on his back pushed him forward, signaling him to take his position.

He drew his sword and waited for Arya to strike at him. A rustle of leaves on his left, he moved in time to block her sword. Giving her no time to think, he pushed back against her, forcing her to move into a defensive position. Instead of attacking, she tried to switch the lead, pushing against him and forcing him to walk backwards.

But he did not move, instead, he pulled her even closer where he could use his hands and ears to spar with. Grasping her sword hand, he pulled her toward his blade, but she flipped out of his grip and over his head. A feeling of satisfaction swept over him as he once again, began the push forward.

Sure enough, Arya's movements signaled he was nearing a dangerous spot, and both of them moved out of the way quickly. However, she was gaining the advantage with her swift movements.

She kicked his hand causing Brisingr to fly away into a tree. The air moved as she once again flipped over him, using his momentary weakness to her advantage and placing herself in between him and his sword. But he was faster, he pulled her leg down and her entire body came crashing down on him. He grunted at she fell on top of him and his hand reached for her sword. She struggled to get up in his grip, but he flipped them over so she could no longer have the advantage of getting up. His hand came across a metal edge and in vain he tried to keep it down. But his hands were burning from sparring all damn day.

"Eragon…"

Her voice was breathy and he felt her hand lose resistance in their battle for it. The movement of other hand signaled it was coming towards him, but too slow for an assault. Instead he froze where he was, his body rigid over hers. The blindfold was being undone by her soft fingers as she lingered far too long in his hair, pulling away at the knots. Finally, she pulled the blindfold off revealing his chocolate brown eyes.

His face turned hot at their position. She was inches from his face, how could he failed to see her proximity. She was breathing heavily from their sparring…or at least that was what he thought it was from. Trying to get up, he found himself restricted somewhat. Glancing down between them, he saw his chain with a flower pendant a small girl in the Varden gave him for saving her father's life was locked around a similar flower around the princess's neck.

"Sorry, Arya svit-kona. It will only take a minute."

He glanced down at the chains again, trying, with restricted hands, to undo the knots between them. The Rider forced his gaze from traveling down the more intimate parts of her body that he could almost feel grazing his forearms. Faints brushes in his hair told him the wind was getting stronger, but he thought it strange only his hair felt it. He looked around and saw Arya's hand was still twirling in his hair. He looked at her questioningly and saw her gaze had that same indescribable look he had seen when she was staring at the fairth of the gardens.

With a sudden comprehension, she muttered. "There is a large amount of foliage in your hair. I was merely getting rid of the majority of it while you work on the chains."

He took her explanation, thinking nothing of it. She was so close, yet so far away.

Perhaps that was why he did not realize their proximity, any distance between them was far too great. She relaxed against the ground and rested her hand on his shoulder bracing herself against his weight.

Finally, his hands had solved the puzzle and separated their chains. Leaving her no other option, he lifted himself up and waited till she joined him. Picking up her sword, he handed it to her.

She thanked him before moving for her home. He had pulled his sword out, but lingered around, looking for something. He lit his sword up and pointed it to the ground, illuminating the darkness for his lost item.

"Looking for this?"

Arya held the blindfold in her hands, her expression once again falling into its blank state.

He nodded and walked over to her standing frame. Taking it lightly in his hands, he curved it around his hand and looked at her.

"I am sorry for that, Arya svit-kona."

She looked at him with mild surprise.

"We fell, Eragon. It happens when sparring." And with that she turned towards her home, leaving him awestruck.

Stopping, she turned around, "Will you not walk home with me tonight as well, or does your chivalry only include Wednesdays?"

"Oh, right." He gave a little laugh at his temporary ignorance and followed her.

Even the silence had changed around them. They were walking on needles it seemed. Their relationship held by knifepoint. Even the air seemed charged around them. Something had changed, and they both wanted to bolt from it. Or at least that was what he interpreted the adrenaline rush through his body every time he smelled her pinecone scent.

Tialdari Hall came upon them and Eragon breathed in relief. He needed to get out before he did something he would regret. She stood in front of him and placed a cool hand against his cheek.

"Good night, Eragon."

He stayed silent, his hand plastered across the burning sensation on his cheek. He walked like that all the way back to his tree house. He was still in love with her, that would never change. The only difference was now even her indifference could not defer him.

The next day with sparring came easier and soon Eragon had defeated his opponent within the second attempt. Even Vanir was surprised at his improvement in the past two days. The third time, Vanir sent three elves against a blindfolded Rider. But Eragon quickly changed his fighting style and came to an impasse with each of the warriors. An hour and a half of swords clashing later, they all claimed tiredness and called a draw. Vanir was pleased with his performance, but for some reason, Eragon knew the elf had something under his sleeve. But it would be for the next time he came to Ellesmera. He and Arya were leaving the next day for the Varden as the funeral rites for Oromis had ended.

Marching his tired body back to his room, he walked up the stairs and collapsed in the wash closet for a nice warm bath.

He must have fallen asleep in the water, a dangerous notion if the wash closet was not so small. The water had gone cold and night had fallen. A knock on his door resounded, and Eragon quickly launched into action. He pulled on a pair of underpants and then his felt pants over them before letting a towel drape over his shoulders. Answering the door, he opened it fully.

Arya stood in front of him, taking in his appearance with a careful eye.

"I am sorry Arya svit-kona, I fell asleep while I was bathing. I did not know the time."

She moved past him before answering, "Actually, we are not to meet until a few hours later if we were meeting later tonight. But there is nothing more I can teach you with fighting blindfold. I merely wanted to discuss our plans for leaving tomorrow."

He nodded before shutting the door after her. Walking towards her, he stood in front before slightly pushing her to the side while he reached for his chest near his bed. Pulling out a dark purple tunic, he pulled the soft Elvin material over his head. Walking over to his meeting area, he warmed some water for tea.

"Still rosemary chamomile?"

Arya seemed surprised he knew her favorite type of tea, but she quickly masked it.

"Yes, please."

He handed her a cup while she sat at his desk. Taking the towel once more, he moved it over his head to stop the dripping. His hair was in a mild disarray and he tried in vain to tame it, but to no avail. Arya must think him unkempt, she was watching his every movement like a hawk.

Sitting at the edge of his bed closest to her, he began talking.

"I believe we should leave early and cover as much distance as possible. I would like to at least cross three fourths of Hadarac Desert and I do not want to go anywhere near the capital even though that is shortest way."

Arya nodded her approval

"We should go over the Spine instead of over Hadarac. It will be quicker that way."

He swallowed uncertainly. She was right.

"Any problem with that?"

"No," he stammered, "as long as we do not stop near…near Carvahall I shall be fine."

"You grew up there. Did you not?

He swallowed thickly and nodded.

She, thankfully, ignored his predicament.

"We should be long gone by the time we stop."

"Aye."

He sent his agreement, but she was taken in by the fairth of the gardens he had hung over his bed.

"It will be a shame to leave these here. I grew fond of having some decorations around where I live."

She let a faint smile show through.

"And that reminds me. I have something for you."

He took the tied up scroll from his desk. He had embellished the gift a little. He used the best paper and calligraphy, as if it was to hang for all to see. Without a blemish he folded both the original and the copy together and pressed a Black Morning Glory flower in between the tie.

"As a thank you for your help."

She took the scroll from his hand and deftly untied the knot and unfolded the scroll. Holding the flower with a certain reverence, she smiled as he realized the poem she was reading was the very same the captured her attention two days ago. A smile stayed on her lips as she read over the neatly written copy.

"You still have not thought of a title."

"I could not think of one."

The Elvin princess smiled before carefully redoing the tie. She stood up and walked herself to the door.

"Thank you for the gift, Eragon."

"Thank you for teaching me, Arya svit-kona."

"I shall see you in the morning. Good night and may the stars watch over you."

"Good night."

She turned, leaving him at the open door staring after her. He sighed, a large smile on his face as he sank in the chair she occupied only moments before.

He did not know how long he sat in her chair, reminiscing against his better judgment, but he sat until he heard a knock on his door. Surprised at the hour, he opened the door once again.

"Arya svit-kona, is everything alright?"

She pushed past him.

"Who is Cynthia?"

He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"I don't understand."

She pushed a paper at him, the original parchment.

On the back, in his unmistakable handwriting, were the words _For my Cynthia._

_Barzul. I had forgotten I had even written that. _

How was he going to explain this one?

Granted he could not just say that she was his Cynthia, that he thought of her when he wrote his love poetry. How complicated of a lie was he going to have to make to get out of this one?

"Arya svit-kona, Cynthia is just a name Saphira happened to choose."

She gave him a hard stare, her icy glare piercing his soft chocolate eyes.

"That is not the truth and you know it. Who is '_my_ Cynthia'?"

He remained silent, not sure what he got himself into. Why did he even bother to make a kind gesture? It always slapped him back. His blessing with Elva, asking Murtagh to stay with him, and now a token of appreciation for all that she did for him. His lies would be futile. She would know the truth eventually and it would be better if she heard it from him before someone else.

"I cannot lie to you. You are my Cynthia, Arya svit-kona. Are you happy now?"

She regarded him with a guarded expression before speaking.

"I am afraid I cannot accept this gift." She seemed to reluctantly let go of the scroll on his desk before turning her back to him.

He closed his eyes, "Wait! Please."

Her back remained to him. At least she stopped, that was more than what he was expecting.

"When I wrote the poem, I had no intention of letting you see it or even giving it to you. You happened to enjoy it and I wanted to give you something for helping me stand my ground against Vanir. A token of my gratitude, nothing more. I honestly did not remember that I had written that on the back. I am sorry, Arya svit-kona, truly I am. But I had no intention of pursuing that topic again by giving you the poem."

Grasping the scroll tightly in her hand once more, she finally spoke after a heavy silence.

"Nay, Shadeslayer. It is I who is sorry."

And with that, she turned on her heel and strode out of the treehouse, the scroll still grasped in her hand.

She took it back, that was something he supposed.

He hit the bed with a heavy heart, hoping his friendship could still be salvaged.


	2. Chapter 2

The sun had not made its appearance when he awoke. It was a good sign, they would need to leave earlier than expected. He adjusted his sack on the saddle, making sure it would not have fallen off.

Silent murmurs towards his right signaled that the princess was heading his way from Tialdari Hall with her farewell troupe.

Once Queen Islanzadi was nearby, he stopped setting his sack and greeted her properly before touching two fingers to his lips and bowing to the princess.

"Drottningu."

His voice was formal, but not unkind. He had not forgotten her anger and from her unusually cold face, neither had she.

"Shadeslayer."

He cringed inwardly at the voice. In one night he had gone from Eragon, her friend to Shadeslayer, her unfortunate acquaintance. Nevertheless, he took her sack from her hands, purposely oblivious to her slightly shocked features. Pulling some straps, he attached that to the saddle properly and swung himself in his spot in the front of Saphira's saddle. A lithe body movement behind him signaled Arya had swung up into place.

They bid their farewells while Saphira took off in the air.

_Did you rest well, Arya svit-kona? _

_Wonderfully. And you, Shadeslayer?_

_Quite well. _

He was lying through his teeth, but she did not seem to care.

When they were taking off on Saphira, the princess had placed a loose arm around his waist to brace herself. But now, she tired her muscles by gripping the saddle so tightly instead of holding on to him. She was, most definitely, not as comfortable as she was coming to Ellesmera.

_Did her aversion towards anything to do with him run that strong? _

He supposed so. If he were her, he probably would be too.

Saphira covered a large distance in one day, there were halfway across the Spine when she claimed she was tired. And when she said it, she was actually deathly exhausted.

She was going through a cloud, but her vision was compromised enough that she did not see the mountain beyond it until the last minute. She spiked up causing Arya to jolt herself and finally grab on to him to keep from falling.

The strength of the pulling on his waist signaled that something was not okay. And so, he reached his long arm around her body and kept her from going backwards and falling off. It normally would not have happened, but the saddle had lost the roughness of leather required to stay stable, instead a sheen of smoothness remained.

_Thank you, Shadeslayer. _

_It is no matter._

He had to thank Saphira's exhaustion for at least that temporary closeness.

_Are you alright, Saphira? You should rest. _

_Yes, I suppose so. _

He held amusement in his mind that even when she was exhausted, she only _supposed_ she would require rest. She, nevertheless, landed with a grace unknown to anyone's eyes and fell promptly asleep curled up in a corner of the campsite.

Her Rider dutifully took the saddle off and laid it next to her, observing the features of it for longer than someone would consider normal.

"Is there a particular reason you are staring at that saddle with such concentration?"

The voice of his companion eased over his mind and for a split second he had forgotten what he was thinking so intently about.

"Yes, there is."

But he refused to elaborate further, merely continuing to observe the saddle. Sighing, he turned around and headed back over to the middle and started a small fire in the space.

"Did you not have an intention to elaborate on your thinking?"

He looked at her, formulating his answer.

"Actually, you did not ask the reason. I would have no problem answering a question you ask, but I have learned from experiences with many elves that answering a question they did not ask is looked down upon."

She seemed to briefly consider reprimanding him because of his wayward answer, but she must have sensed the honesty in his words, for she said nothing further on the matter.

"Why were you looking at the saddle with such concentration?"

"It has worn out. I must make a new one so that less experienced fliers will not fall."

"Why such concentration for such a trivial matter?"

He gave her a hard stare, "My father made it for me. I was remembering how he taught me, that is all."

Eragon let his head sink in on his chest. He was sitting against a log, one leg bent and close to his chest, the other stretched far in front of him. His elbows rested on the log behind him, successfully stretching out his shoulder blades as he needed to.

"He was a good man. I am glad he was your father."

He chuckled darkly, "Yes, considerable improvement over the last. At least I no longer must be shamed to let the identity of my father be known."

She frowned, "You told no one."

"Not besides you and Nasuada, and Roran, of course. Blood always tells, he told me."

He clenched his hand in frustration as he remembered the anger then.

"And the other elves? They do not know?"

"I explained to them that Murtagh called me brother because Galbatorix wanted me and him to be his Riders. I considered him a brother once. I still do, the Murtagh that traveled with me, I consider my brother."

He looked at her eyes, they bore into him filled with doubt and uncertainty.

Placing his most emotionless features in place, he read her emotions like a book.

"You do not have to fear my hesitation. I will kill him as long as he serves King Galbatorix."

A mild wave of surprise flitted over her features until she fell into her usual composed self.

"How do you do it?"

He cocked an eyebrow at her question.

"Never in my hundred or so years of existence has anyone able to discern my emotions so accurately. And yet you do."

He took a long swing from his water skin.

"It is no doing of mine. You have spent the majority of your lifetime among humans. Perhaps you are not as emotionless as you perceive yourself to look. I may not be the only one, the others simply may not choose to react appropriately."

She shook her head, but remained silent.

"You, on the other hand, I have a hard time reading."

He looked into the flames. The dancing heat forming images in his mind, memories floating through his mind. For a split second, he could almost see his own reflection.

"I have come to learn that remaining emotionless, not just hiding emotions, when nearing a battle zone can improve concentration and leave the mind crystal clear."

"Surely, not feeling anything takes a toll on your peace."

"I have not felt any adverse effects as of late. In any case, I have often made small excursions to Ellesmera to ease my mind and release the stress in my body."

His answer seemed to satisfy her curious mind. That was another unusual aspect of hers, her curiosity. In Ellesmera, she seemed to come closer and closer and then pull so far back no one would consider them friends. But as she neared humans, her barriers seemed to fall down little by little.

"How are you and Murtagh so close? I would not think you saw each other often."

He looked at her with a worried brow.

"Surely you know that Murtagh was with me when I brought you out from Gil'ead. He and Saphira attacked the prison while I took you from the prison cell. Saphira flew overhead with you attached to her belly so you would not fall while Murtagh and I rode on underneath running from Kull and Empire soldiers tracking us to the Varden. I did not want to compromise the position of the Varden, but they had the antidote."

He sighed and looked away as she shook her head.

"It is not your fault I suppose. I did not exactly tell anyone out of fear no one would trust me after I had taken the help of a son of Morzan, and I suppose you did not talk much with Murtagh. I believed, however, that Saphira would have told you in your conversations. Perhaps I was mistaken."

"What does Saphira tell you of our conversations?"

Eragon regarded her with a guarded expression, observing her current emotions.

There was a hint of fear, apprehension, nervousness, a tad bit of some indescribable look in her eyes.

"Saphira tells me nothing of your conversations, and neither do I ask."

She let a hint of a smile show through, "I would have thought you someone to never stop until your curiosity is eased."

"My curiosity must be sparked."

"I thought my conversations with Saphira would have peaked your interests."

"Perhaps you do not know me. I do not pursue topics that will yield failing results."

_Not any longer. _

He kept the last bit to himself, but his words sent the implied meaning.

"I knew you, but you have changed."

She admitted quietly before turning her perceived guarded expression away.

"I was sixteen when I met you, a boy who a dragon hatched for, who lost his uncle, father and mentor, captured by a Shade, and starved for a few days before escaping with the Empire on his heels until he collapsed into the Varden. Now, four years later, I am a fully trained Rider who spends the majority of his waking hours in battle or in strategy of winning by violence. It is no surprise that I have changed. The simple farmboy is dead in me. Resilient, yes, I suppose he was. But everyone has a breaking point, and his was…quite some time ago."

_After my nightmares ceased to truly trouble me. _After months of instead of screaming, calmly waking up and splashing water on his face. The farm boy in him would have never ceased to be horrified at the destruction he was causing.

Arya shook her head, worried at his exposed feelings.

"Nay, you were never a simple farmboy. Simple farmboys cannot write poetry as you do."

"Neither can they lift a finger and reduce an entire army to ashes."

"You were never meant for that life."

"Arya svit-kona, what do you think I was before Saphira hatched for me? I lived on a farm with my uncle and cousin. I hunted for food and farmed when I was needed. I tended to the animals. I did not how to even read until five years ago, let alone the Ancient Language. That boy is dead."

Her incredulous look was even less masked that usual.

"You could not read?"

"No, we took a break for a few months and my father taught me how in Teirm."

"I am sorry. I had no idea how…" She trailed off, not knowing what to say.

"How an uneducated village boy like me could even have hoped to be something better, yet became a Rider."

He looked away sadly. It was a doubt he had been having as of late as well. Why did Saphira choose him? She had plenty of other honorable, stronger people around her. Hell, even Arya would have been a better Rider than he was.

"I had no idea how quickly you were able to learn to read and write and compose beautiful poems in such a short time. I have been exposed to many poets, but all of whom took centuries to develop their style and flawless compositions. All of which you have accomplished in a few years after only learning to be literate. That is further proof that you were not meant to live a simply farm life as tempting as it sounds."

He was taken aback at her answer. He expected many things, but an educated Elvin princess looking over the distinction in their social status was not one he expected.

"Thank you for your kind words, Arya svit-kona."

"I saw your final spar against three warriors yesterday."

"I was not aware you were there."

"I left before you could have known on an urgent state of affair before I had a chance to congratulate you on a remarkable round."

"Thank you, I am only as good as my teacher."

She laughed a little, "Actually, you are much better than I expected you to be. I lost that sparring match during my training. It was the only one I lost. You came to a tie, however."

"I would have lost if we had continued. My arms were tiring and I knew would not have been able to keep up the same intensity. I have not sparred in quite some time and the Empire soldiers in battle hardly put up a decent fight for one used to training with elves."

She said nothing in return. It was like that day when she grabbed his hand and healed it for him. Shifting around as if his presence made her uncomfortable. He observed a little longer, running his fingers over where she held his hand, reliving how soft it felt in his significantly larger, rougher ones. He cringed inside, she must have hated touching his scarred and rough hands. They were not exactly pleasant to look at let alone hold.

Looking away embarrassed, he placed his hands in the least offensive position, behind his body, slightly contributing to holding himself up. At least, there she would not have to see their dismal state.

He heard a shuffling in front of him and spared a glance at the movements. Arya had pulled out the poem he had given her. Surprisingly, not the beautiful parchment with calligraphy on it, but rather the original. And she was not even reading the poem, but staring at the inscription on the back.

_She still had not forgotten. _

Part of him reveled in the fact she kept it close to her, the other hated how that part could rationalize any small action as an indication of her feelings toward him exceeding the bounds of friendship.

As of yet, he still had no idea which part he should silence and so he let both war with the other as he sat back and became a spectator to his own mind.

"Of all the names possible, you choose Cynthia."

Her voice was uncharacteristically soft, as if unsure to whether this was an acceptable topic for them.

"Would you like me to change it?"

Eragon's voice grew softer, he too was unsure on how to talk on the subject with crossing boundaries. Yes, he could blame her…but he would not. He was a gentleman and chivalrous deeds still reigned in his mind even though she was superior to him in every aspect possible.

"What would you change it to?"

He sighed, "Arya svit-kona, I feel as if this conversation will not be beneficial to our friendship."

"Yet honesty will be."

The Rider did not know what she was doing to him. A little spark within him was put out time and again…because of her. His body sometimes shook involuntarily after their encounters…brief or not. Once he was reduced to such a violent tremor he had to leave into the forest for it to pass. And she had not even spoken to him, only acknowledged his presence with a nod when she sought out Nasuada in some important business.

He was so close to breaking. Saphira knew and often times she came to his rescue, blocking memories and feelings in his mind as she had when the Twins searched it. But Saphira was asleep and Eragon knew he had to prevent himself on his own. Arya would ask questions if he woke her up and forced her to handle him.

"Considering the original purpose of that name has been compromised, I suppose the name I should write will be the name of who that poem was intended for."

Her eyes flashed with a little anger.

"Do you think that admittance was absolutely necessary?"

"You value honesty over friendship. I honored your wishes."

Her eyes softened a little.

"What would have said if I had insisted, but allowed you to lie?"

"That the name in the poem is of no consequence and any name can fit in there and you can change it if you see fit."

"And if I told you I valued friendship over honesty? What would you have said?"

"Arya svit-kona, if I knew you to be one to value friendship over honesty, I would have never pursued you in the first place. But you value the truth and so unable to keep a lie and deceive you, I sacrificed the most important value to me…friendship, so you would know the truth."

"You would have lied to me to keep our friendship?"

"Is that not the problem? I could not bring myself to do so because you value honesty."

"Have you lied to any others to keep friendship?"

"I have never told Roran and Katrina that Sloan is alive and neither do I intend to do so. I never told Nasuada that Murtagh was hopelessly in love with her and wanted to marry her before he was captured by Galbatorix. I never told my father that sometimes, when you came into my dreams, like scrying, sometimes I would feel your pain as well. I never told Orik, my brother in honor, that the man who killed his uncle was in fact my brother by blood. I never told Saphira that when Oromis – ebirthil looked at my hands one day, he warned me to take care that they did not revel in carnal. To this day, she wonders why I sometimes hesitate before entering a battle. I never told Saphira that when I first touched her, my hand burned so badly I was writhing on the floor in pain. The only pain comparable to that was when Durza laid my back open. Yes, Arya svit-kona, I lie to keep others from being hurt."

"If you knew it would hurt me, why could you not lie then too?"

"I would rather hurt you unintentionally than lie to you intentionally. I had doubts about everyone else, but I knew you are strong enough to recover from that pain. I could not disrespect you by protecting you when I knew you did not require such protection."

"How much pain did you feel?"

He looked at her questioningly, unsure whether she was asking about the scrying or the pain after her rejection.

He correctly assumed the latter.

"Enough to know that you were repeatedly whipped with a hot barbed wire. I woke up early in the morning from the pain and often discovered blood running down my back. The injuries were similar to the ones I saw on your back. I healed them before Brom woke up and washed the shirt so he could not tell. Saphira knew though, at least, she found out when I was repeatedly flexing my back. I did not have enough magic to completely heal the cuts and bruises, but enough to make them stop bleeding so my father would not question it."

"Why did you not say anything to me?"

The Rider looked at her quizzically.

"It happened so long ago that I did not even think twice about it. It was far before my father died, nearly three and a half years ago. And when you regained consciousness, I was thrust in the Battle for Farthen Dur. And afterwards, Durza's wound wiped all thoughts of other injuries from my mind."

His eyes bored into hers, begging with her to understand.

"It was not that I made a conscious decision not to tell you, I made a conscious decision not to tell my father. With you, it was merely pushed so far back in my mind that I did not place much of an importance on it. I truly forgot about it."

"How did you know the pain and blood came from me?"

"I would dream of you, sometimes you would be screaming and that would be when I woke up and saw the blood."

He turned away, "I am sorry, Arya svit-kona, for what you endured carrying Saphira around. I truly am grateful for you and I wish I could have gotten you out sooner."

Arya shifted uncomfortably away, "I never realized you experienced what happened."

Eragon chuckled darkly, "What a heavy conversation for such a beautiful night."

He stared up at the stars, never ceasing to be amazed by the sight above him.

"When we were very small children, no more than five or six years, Roran and I would sit on the roof of the barn and start counting the stars. We did so every year on…on the day Aunt Marian died. It became an unspoken ritual. Six years ago, I was out hunting and I did not make it back in time. I was…injured if you will, from an angry pack of wolves trying to get the animal. I was slow to get back, it took me a week instead of a few days. Sometimes, I feel he has never forgiven me for it. That was the last year we counted the stars. I asked him about it the next year and all he did was shrug saying we had to move on. I found out that same year that Aunt Marian was in fact my aunt and not my mother. I felt like my mother had died, and when I realized my real mother left me, I felt as if I was not deserving enough to be a son."

She looked at him cautiously, but his gaze was still intent on analyzing the sky.

"And what do you think now?"

He smirked a little, the harsh lines of his anger creasing his older face.

"Now I know I am not deserving enough to be a son. I let my father die before my eyes and I feel tarnished by my mother's reputation as the Black Hand."

"I hardly think so, Shadeslayer. Everyone is deserving of parents. Some more than others, but all are, nonetheless."

Eragon let gravity pull his head back, stretching his strained neck and abdomen muscles for him. He remained there, breathing against the beautiful agony only stretching could provide him.

"But not all are so lucky in that regard."

He could sense she was looking at him with her guarded expression, wondering when his speech became so refined…or his thoughts so cynical.

"Why did you change?"

_Because you did not like who I was. _

He closed his eyes, formulating his answer, not lying, yet not telling the truth.

"Circumstances change people. I had no choice."

And it was true. There was no choice for him, if she did not like who he was, he would change for her. Utterly and completely with complete disregard to who he was before. But it was not as if he was making a fool of himself. He really did not feel like smiling so much anymore, or laughing, or even removing such a stoic expression from his face.

"Is the Eragon who laughed and smiled more often than he should have still there?"

His brown eyes turned so dark and menacing, the looked black against the night sky, and they were so black, they seemed to be a deep purple in dancing flames.

"Is the Arya who learned how to fly a kite in the gardens of Tialdari Hall still there?"

She narrowed her eyes at him, all playfulness and compassion gone from her face. This was the Arya he knew, the Arya capable of reducing anyone who threatened her security to mere ashes to float away in the wind.

"How do you know? Answer me!"

He prolonged the moment, unsure of how long she would stand.

"Answer me!"

_Not long so it seems._

"I was walking through your home in Ellesmera with Islanzadi Drottning. Oromis-ebirthil left Naegling for me and once the elves recovered it, Islanzadi took it into her personal keeping along with a letter addressed to me in order to give it to me as soon as she did. However, not wanting to carry it around with her in the danger that something could go wrong, she placed those items under lock and key in her personal chambers and insisted I come with her to retrieve them. When I entered her room, there was a fairth on the wall to the left. There stood a proud Elvin male, love clearly shining through his eyes as he watched a small girl," he looked at her and lifted a hand tracing the features on her face from a distance, "with raven black hair so straight it made a sword look bent, eyes such a bright green it put the leaves of Du Weldonvarden to shame." He dropped his hand and looked away, "It could only be you and your father. Islanzadi Drottning saw me glancing in its direction and confirmed my beliefs."

The tips of her ears slowly became more pale as understanding filled her features.

"I am sorry. When you told me that, I had thought you-"

"Thought I looked through your memories without your knowledge or asked the Elvin population about you, am I right?"

She raised her eyes before darting down again.

"Yes."

"I may have changed, Arya svit-kona, but I will never violate such a breach of privacy for my own personal gain. In any case, your people admire you. They will not openly talk about you."

"Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive. Your last sanctuary is the safety of your mind, as is the same for many warriors. If someone had brought up a childhood memory when they had no knowledge of the subject, of course I would have assumed the same."

"But you are not someone. My assumption is unforgivable."

"Arya svit-kona," he gently spoke her name, his voice becoming tender knowing she was truly in distress because of this, "I may not be able to defeat the undefeatable, or make possible the impossible, but I can forgive the unforgivable." He leaned closer in a mock gesture of secrecy, "Between the two of us, it is what I am best at." And his face erupted into a smile he had not been able to make for the longest time.

And to his immense surprise, his smile was returned kindly. Perhaps not as big as his, but there nevertheless, the feeling mutual.

But once his heart started to feel the similar pangs only a smile as wonderful and beautiful as hers, he sobered quickly.

"It is late, Arya svit-kona, and we have wasted much of the night away talking. We have a long journey. We must rest."

"We do not need to," she protested, "we do not need to. Saphira is sleeping, and we can sleep on the way back tomorrow, taking turns staying awake and resting."

He could deny her nothing.

"Very well."

"What was your childhood like, Shadeslayer? I know your cousin must have had quite an entertaining one with Katrina."

He chuckled as he remembered his cousin's antics with her.

"Yes, there were some interesting instances. Roran visited Katrina in the dead of the night once. I was to be his wing man, if you will. He jumped the fence and climbed up the window. Sloan had heard the noise and I was the only one in the vicinity and Roran showed no signs of coming down. I ran towards the stables and hid in the horse's barn. He never found me, but Roran was nearly caught. We escaped a half hour later. Uncle Garrow was not happy at all when we came in the break of dawn panting."

The small smile faded a little from her features, "And no one like Katrina for you?"

Her voice was laced with apprehension, slightly, only detectable with the little nuances in her seemingly monotone voice.

He shook his head lightly.

"I never wanted a 'mare for my brood' as wives are more commonly called by their husbands who truly have no respect for women. I wanted someone who fought with me, riling me up just because she could, or even winning a leg race, or better yet a sparring match. One with whom I would never have to fall into a routine with."

Her voice was small, but he heard it sharply nonetheless.

"Did you find her?"

"It took a while, but yes, I did."

"Who was she?"

He raised his eyebrows at her, looking for any sign of mocking in her features. How could she not know?

"Cynthia…her name is Cynthia."

Understanding seemed to dawn on her features as she looked away. She muttered an apology for asking and fell silent once again.

"It's quite alright, you know. I have come to terms with it. You do not have to feel guilty at all."

"Do you think I was feeling guilty?"

He smiled a little, "Considering you have done nothing by apologize when the topic comes up, yes, I suppose I did believe you were feeling guilty."

The tips of her ears seemed to twinge red with a little embarrassment, but whether it was from the cold getting to her or actual embarrassment, he did not know. Her adamant refusal to look at him, however, hinted at the former.

"Not many would be so forgiving to such a cruel rejection."

Her words carried over to him. She truly was distressing herself over the issue more than he thought she would. Was this why she was kinder to him? Because her guilt forced her to go out of her way to make him feel better? Did she pity him?

He certainly hoped that was not true. He hoped that, deep down in the abyss of her nature, she was turning a kinder eye in his direction. He couldn't give up hope that one day…_one day, _just maybe she might look fondly in his direction.

"Not many have such few friends that grudges can be held when the mistake is clearly the aggressor's fault. Perhaps I am merely grateful that we still are friends."

She seemed to scoff at the suggestion.

"I hardly think I have been much of a friend to you lately."

He raised his eyebrows in protest, "On the contrary, you are. Why else did Islanzadi Drottning look kindly upon a human Rider or the fact you taught me of Elvish customs, thereby gaining favor of many elves believing I was as ignorant as the rest of my kind. It was likely I would have been captured when I stayed behind at Helgrind if you had not come if what you say about the Dragon Rider walking the lands and the forests knowing is true and I have no doubt it is. You saved me from Durza even when the relations between the Dwarves and the Varden could have been compromised. You taught me how to silence in the wolves in my head, something that would have taken my sanity away had you not pushed it from my mind. You believed in me…and that speaks volumes about you as a friend. And so, since the fault was clearly mine, I cannot hold a grudge against you for my obvious lack of judgment and I truly am grateful we are still friends."

Arya looked at him with a wondrous expression, "You must understand, I did not have the intention that had been resulted from my actions. It was merely…"

She trailed off, not knowing exactly what her actions had been.

"Then unintentionally, you have been a great friend."

His firm voice silenced the matter. He would not hear of any other belief for himself. Scrimmaging around the campsite, he threw an apple to her. Her Elvin reflexes saved her from missing the fast fruity projectile. Taking a grateful bite, she turned to munch on her late night snack in silence.

He pulled a fallen twig closer to him and started tracing patterns in the soil. At first they did not seem to have any rhyme or reason, just patterns. But after a while, they took on the appearance of names. Specifically those he loved: Saphira, Arya, Roran, Arya, Brom, Arya, Garrow, Arya, Oromis, Arya…he sighed and threw the stick in the flames, watching it lit up and burn quickly in the heat.

He couldn't help but draw parallels to that twig and his heart. Devoted to the people…person he loved and being consumed by it until there was nothing left, literally. His eyes worked their way back up to the fire, becoming more and more interested in the memories erupting from his mind.

"Why do the flames hold your interest?"

He was brought out of his rapture.

"I find them soothing. The crackling, the sounds, it seems I can go into a meditative state just by listening to the sounds. I feel at peace…one of the few times I do."

Pulling his eyes towards his hand, he watched his shadow bounce with the flames.

"Why did you change?"

"Why does that question hold your interest so?"

Her sharp gaze flicked to his, "Because it is the only one I cannot answer."

"How so?"

She sighed deeply, unsure as to how to answer her quagmire without revealing too much.

"I can figure out your motivation for nigh all else you do. Why you fight? To protect the people you love. Why you choose to write poetry? To have a way to express your love that you cannot express outside. Why you continue to stand up for your morals even though what you sacrifice is much greater? To prove to the world that you are moral and that you will not turn evil, to prove to yourself that you are good. But you continued to do this previously, when you were carefree. My question is why you changed your personality when all you believed in remains the same."

He knew the answer to that question. Hell, anyone who saw the way he looked at the Elvin princess could figure out the answer to that question, so why was she unable to see what everyone else seemed to plainly assume?

"I was too emotional, Arya svit-kona, and frankly I cannot afford to be so any longer."

"Your emotions led you to your beliefs. How can you so willingly abandon them?"

"I have not abandoned them, Arya svit-kona, I have merely learned to conceal them. Oromis-ebirthil told me the most valuable skill I could learn is not letting my enemy discover my feelings by looking at me. I have learned to separate these feelings in my mind, so my memories are simply a run down of what happened. This way, if I am ever captured, my true name cannot be discovered as the essential part of my memories, my feelings, cannot be determined."

Her eyes flashed with anger.

"I am not your enemy! And neither am I your captor."

_But you are. You are the worst of each kind. _

And it was true. Enemies sought his death, yet her refusal of him killed him. He no longer lived, merely existed. And she was his captor. She captured his mind and heart so fully it would not have mattered if she uttered his true name or not. He was her slave till the day his life left his body. She caused him a pain like no other, a stabbing, a piercing so deep, the blade of her indifference refused to move from his heavy heart.

"Must you be so indifferent with even me. You know the subtlest changes in my mood, yet I never know yours."

It was better that way. She would never speak to him again if she knew his emotions.

"Is that why you seek the answer to that question? Because I know you better than you know me. Because you feel inferior to me in that sense?"

He knew he should not have said anything remotely implying that. But it was for the best that she did not know why he changed, it was the best option to keep her curious mind from approaching the truth behind his actions.

"How dare you even consider such a thought! I thought you might have understood me, and now I realize exactly how mistaken I was. You truly do not know anything me and clearly I do not know anything about you either. You have learned nothing!"

Her face held poorly hidden anger as her eyes flashed a bright green.

How someone could look that attractive in anger, he would never discover. But her wrath instilled more desires in him than before.

_Barzul! Would this never stop? _

Even her anger could not deter his feelings.

"It is late, Arya svit-kona. Perhaps we should rest."

She narrowed her eyes at his lack of response to her accusations, but her expression turned haughty as she rose with the utmost grace from her seated position and laid down on the thin blanket she packed for travel.

Her breathing evened out and soon Eragon could tell she had sent herself into the Elvin realm of dreams. He brought his hands and wrapped them around his shoulders before resting fully against the fallen log. Staring into the flames, he finally succumbed to the sleep he forced himself into.

Saphira had risen as dawn crept into the sky. She carefully nudged her Rider awake and yawned loudly. As carefully as he could, Eragon slipped into Arya's realm of dreams and woke her gently. Her wrath at him did not wear off during the night if his assumption of her renowned Elvin fury was anywhere near where he believed it to be. Her eyes snapped open, but she carefully avoided his gaze whenever she could.

The silence between them was an uneasy one, but it was for the best. Maybe her indifference towards him would finally deter his determined heart from seeking her love. He staged the fight, letting her words remain uncontested. Perhaps that way, she could believe he truly meant them and would distance herself from him. It was safer for her anyhow. Soldiers of the Empire would no doubt see how he rushed to protect her when she was surrounded or how he attacked the Shade in his weakened state for her or even healed her when it was so detrimental to his life. They would know of his feelings for her, and for her sake, it would be better if she did not even remotely reciprocate his feelings.

He sighed deeply as he realized he was doing the one thing he hated doing to her. Protecting her by lying to her. Galbatorix would target her to get to him. This one time, he would be dishonest, knowing she hated it, and see that she remained unharmed.

_She will not stay silent for long, you do realize that. _

The voice of reason belonging to a certain Sapphire dragon moved easily through his head.

_She is Arya Drottningu, an Elvin princess. She has the stubbornness of a mountain, she will not move from her decision once it is made. _

_Why did you say what you did? You do not even believe it. _

_You know why, Saphira. You know why. If I told her I changed because she could not love who I was, she would distance herself from me, but everyone would know I loved her. I cannot have that. It would danger her. It was best if I distanced myself and she knew nothing of how I felt for her, if anything were to happen, they would be more lenient towards her. I cannot have her in danger because of me. _

_Protecting her is a sign of disrespect you hated last night. _

_I can do many things I hate for the protection of the people I love. _

_You would violate your rules and morals for them. _

_For Arya, not for them. For Arya, for her, I would rot in Hell for the rest of eternity so she could live a happier life. _

_Oh, Little one. _

_Do not pity me, Saphira. I am in love, and even though she does not love me, her safety means just as much. _

Their link remained silent for the duration of the trip. Saphira covered nearly half the distance the previous day across the Spine. They had two more days of traveling at least.

It was nightfall when they landed again. It was a relatively safe clearing, or so they thought. A rustling in the bushes around them raised a light alarm. Saphira was already honing in on her senses to pinpoint the distress. The bush shook even more.

Eragon drew his flaming blade silently, waiting for what lie behind the shrubbery.

A small white furry creature emerged from the depths and he sighed in relief. He let out a chuckle and turned towards his companions. A small smile on her face showed even her relief.

"Not so fast, Rider."

He turned around quickly, fear rising in him. Eragon was easily thrown back ten feet and behind the shadows of the forest rose an eight foot tall figure.

"We are Manilov. And we are here for you, Rider."

The multiple voices gave away the identity of the thing in front of them.

Galbatorix created another Shade.

Arya immediately leapt into action, drawing her sword and attacking at its weakest point, but she was thrown back from the force of his blade against a tree. Saphira tried in vain to escape her confinement and let out a fiery, smoldering breath. But to no avail, it merely caved around him and evaporated.

Eragon leapt to his feet, quickly saying some wards for his protection. His flaming sword connected with Manilov's and he tried to keep up with the Shade's fast movements. His Elvin companion darted past him and made an attack of her own but she was thrown against Saphira, only to be joined by him moments later.

It was powerful, far more powerful than the others.

_Eragon! _

Arya's voice rang out through his head and he realized that her throat was being constricted.

Lifting his beaten body up, he engaged the Shade in a futile duel and attacked him with his mind. The sudden lapse in uniformity allowed Arya to breath, but Eragon was quickly overpowered.

"The King wants you later. She is ordered to die."

Fear rose through him as he realized he was speaking about Arya. In a desperate attempt to get to her, Eragon threw himself in front of the Shade's descending blade, catching it in his shoulder as he cried out in pain.

"Eragon!"

_Little one! _

"Go!"

Eragon held the Shade's arm to him with a renewed strength. Until they escaped, he would keep him here.

"Go! Arya! Saphira! Get out now!"

_I am not leaving you! _

"I am the one who should stay! You are too valuable."

He was running out of strength to hold.

"Come for me later." His voice was barely a whisper with his failing strength. The Shade cried out as he tried unsuccessfully to break the Rider's grip.

"The King will not kill me, he needs Saphira. Come for me later. Go now! There is no time."

_No, Little one! I am not leaving. _

He cried out in frustration.

_Go, Saphira! Get out! You cannot follow me! Take Arya and get out!_

He yelled at her in the Ancient Language, forcing her to see the truth in his words.

With a pained yell, Saphira scooped up the princess in her claws and flew away, releasing one fiery breath as her promise to get him back.

"You will pay for that, Rider."

And his world went black and cold.

Cold water splashed in his face. His vision was groggy when he first opened up.

Another bout of water. He yelped out, but his vision cleared.

Manilov stood in front of him with two of his Empire soldier minions. He discovered with horror he could no longer use magic and his body was thoroughly drugged with something he did not know.

"Swear you allegiance to the king and we will set you free."

He smirked at him, "Where is your king now? Off to let you do his dirty work for him."

A hand smacked his face and a little blood trickled down.

"Does he leave you to this type of work while he does something more important?"

Another hand hit him.

"To answer your question, because your dragon is not here, the king has no interest with you. He allowed me to keep a hold of you until Saphira comes. Then, and only then, will you be useful to him. In the meanwhile, you are mine, Rider."

Eragon glanced at his surroundings and groaned in vain. He had no idea where he was and neither could he find out from the Shade surreptitiously.

Trying to move his arms, he realized he was hanging from his arms, his torso left bare. His tunic lay shredded in the corner and his feet were tied separately to chains. He was hanging from a portable ledge made for spreading out a body for whipping.

"Leave us."

The soldiers obeyed the cold, chilling voice and left the room.

"We are to have fun, Rider. Do stop me if it gets to be too much."

An evil laugh filled the chamber as a whip cracked down on his back. He silently grunted, but he did not cry out. He was stronger than this, far stronger.

Another sting on his back. The cuts were shallow enough, this pain was nothing to the cuts and slices he felt. And the Shade knew it too as he yelled in frustration.

He pulled a chain from the little box of hell he decided to bring and repeatedly hit the Rider with those.

"Stronger than our will to break you, are we Rider?"

The chain whipped itself around once again, smacking his face, drawing even more blood from his lip. Long bruises formed across his body where it struck repeatedly, but he had not cried out yet.

"Fine."

Manilov let the chain sit in the roaring flames for a few minutes. Eragon shivered in anticipation, he knew what was coming next. But he was stronger, he would be stronger than this.

The gloved hand reached and grabbed the cool part of the chain. Steam floated off the metal and Eragon already could feel the hot crack across his back. Nothing prepared him for the actual sensation, however.

He finally cried out as the searing hot metal burned through his skin, leaving a red mark or bleeding in other places. The Shade laughed again and hit him again, even harder.

His entire body was covered in bruises or blood with the heat. The sun had gone down and a last resounding crack resulted in a rib cracking. Nearly crying, Eragon began to breath deeply to get through the pain.

_He would not break. He could not break._

He would tell nothing of the Varden, the plans, the elves, or anything for that matter. He would survive and wait till Arya and Saphira finished the war.

Manilov let his chains down and he fell with a nasty crunch on the floor.

"Rot here till we start tomorrow."

Eragon shuddered in the corner, forcing the tears in his eyes back toward the depths they came from. He let his breathing slow as he thought of Saphira and Arya. Now, only their memories could save his sanity.

The cell door creaked open once again and the Rider inwardly groaned at the noise. He believed he would have just a little longer before he had to experience it again.

Manilov pulled at the chains he was attached to and once again he was left hanging in the middle of the room. Water was poured on his face and he mouth was forced open as the sickly liquid was thrown in his mouth carelessly. A soldier took a few bits of bread stuffed in his mouth, clamping it shut so he had no choice but to swallow if he wanted to breathe.

The Shade said nothing to him. Instead he dismissed the soldiers and turned his gaze back.

"Ready for round two? I do not understand why you resist telling me. No one will come for you."

He hoped no one did, it could be disastrous if they did.

He felt a sharp edge rake down his back, his hot blood immediately drawn as it flowed down his back. He steeled himself together and prepared for today.

"These past few weeks you have been nothing more than unresponsive. So I created something new for you."

A long, thin whip lay in his arms, but there was something off about it. Unsure as to what it was, Eragon looked closer and widened his eyes in alarm.

The whip was glistening with broken glass. The leather material was doused in some glue and then rolled in broken glass, making the edges rougher and rougher.

His understanding initiated some laughter on his torturers part.

How long had he been here?

He knew not.

Manilov took a blade and cut the pant material from his body, leaving him utterly bare. The first crap of the whip came hard on his back, opening up wounds and streaking across the formed scabs. He moved to the front and began assaulting his body from there. The glass caught on his skin and raked across, edging and tearing at his flesh. It did not take long for the Rider to scream in pain, but he still did not break. He thought of Saphira and Arya, using them to make his barriers impeccable.

The whip came hard on his body once again and soon there was not an inch on his that was not covered in wet blood.

"We start again tomorrow."

And he was left, hanging still, his body completely naked to the cold air as the blood dried on him.

_Ah, the pain! _

His breathing slowed down, become less labored, but still heavy nonetheless. His admiration for Arya grew immensely. Not giving up anything under the Shade's torture only made him love her more.

_Barzul!_

He hoped Arya could not scry him. She could not know what was happening to him, could not know at all the pain he was going through.

Struggling in vain against his chains, he gasped in distress. It was no use. They were strong and he was growing weaker and weaker.

Sleep eluded him and he sighed in resignation as Manilov opened the cell once again. Instead of that accursed whip, he had a small knife with him. It was sharp, but he was slowly forgetting why he could tell. He had blocked the pain, blocking all feelings and soon he blocked his memories.

Anything that raised his desires to leave, he blocked from his mind.

The knife glistening menacingly in front of him, and once again Eragon steeled his bloody, ravaged muscles for the onslaught.

It moved with painful slowness across his chest, straight down his chest, almost marking his sternum with a long gash.

"This is a new type of torture I have been inventing. There are certain places on your body that an injury an inch deep will not kill you. I have found these places…because of my practice on other soldiers."

The knife pierced his thigh and dragged across a small way before the blood oozed out without abandon.

He was breathing heavily, letting the pain run over him. He felt it slide along his calf muscle, yielding the same results.

It raked over his arms, his chest, his buttocks, even a few times along his manly member, all to elicit such painful experiences from his body. After the next couple of weeks, his entire body was covered in short scars that lined his body and face in multiple places. The cuts were no more than an inch long, but thousands of them covered his body. He could no longer see the skin anymore.

But it did not matter, he didn't even know who or where he was.


	3. Chapter 3

Night had fallen once again. He looked at the wall to his left. The marks he made on the wall slowly faded away from his negligence of it. He did not even know how long he was here. Where? That was unknown. The days began to blur together, he was Manilov's guinea pig of sorts. He would practice different types of torture on him.

The door creaked open and those malicious eyes fixed on him.

"Good, you look fairly well today. We should try something new."

He flinched in anticipation.

"One of the soldiers here came with a new cut on his face. He told us he got it from shaving. We obtained one of these blades. Sharp little bastards, aren't they?"

A shining metal glinted in his eyes.

"You are growing too much hair. You need it cut…and more."

The Shade stepped closer and brought the blade down over his skin. The Rider screamed in pain. It was brought down even harder, leaving a patch of his face skinless. He was being skinned alive.

"You have such a pretty face. We want it."

Again the blade came down his face and another long strip of his skin fell to the ground. His chest was covered in blood falling from the raw insides in his face. The blade moved up to his forehead. The tortured boy turned man let a blood-curdling scream. And his captor merely laughed.

"Pity you don't have more face for us."

The small razor raked across his back, leaving a strip the width of his torso on the ground. A few more times, a few more strips.

"Perhaps we should have been neater with it back here. Ah, well. Practice makes perfect. We still have the front, do we not?"

The Shade punched him in the stomach and he let out a grunt as he tried to control the pain.

"We have always wanted to see what muscles look like."

The man clashed against his chains, violently trying to get away. This was not torture, this was…there was no word for this. Not that he could remember, anyway.

The blade came forcefully down across his chest and abdomen several times.

"You know, this pain is not even enough for me. We want more."

The Shade called a few soldiers from the outside.

"Hold his legs apart, and pull it straight for us."

They followed his command and the Rider could only thrash around for so long. Just as he expected, the blade was brought straight down his member, skinning him. He didn't know who could hear him, but he knew the temporary silence in the dungeon was because of his screaming. Blood cascaded down from his body, not leaving a morsel of his tan skin tan. It dried and cracked on his body and he couldn't even tell his skin color…the skin that was left anyway. The Shade placed an orb outside the dungeon, ensuring he had enough blood to survive, instead of healing him.

Deep breaths raked him. He knew that the Shade was not done, these were only the beginning of the experiments. The cold damp air pierced his skin, and soon all he could feel was numb. His blood slowly changed from a river to molasses, slowing oozing out as it semi froze in the ice box he was placed in.

He, however, grateful for the pain numbing because of the cold. He closed his eye, letting the barriers around his mind unblock himself from his own memories…the real and the fantasies. He pictured a raven haired Elvin maiden, perched against a large tree, reading a scroll. She only occasionally looked towards him, beckoning him to come. For some reason, her eyes were always green. They had to be green…there was no other option.

He wondered who she was…but whoever she was, she was saving his sanity. He pictured kissing her soft lips, running his hands all over her delicate body as the scroll lay forgotten.

The skinned man sighed and shut his weary eyes. He glanced down one last time as his torn apart body. To his great disgust, strips of his skin still lay on the ground. He had an urge to vomit, but he fought it down, knowing that the violent jerking of his body could very well be fatal in his condition.

Perhaps it was more worrisome that he couldn't even remember his own name, rather than the one in his dreams.

The last bit of sunlight was blocked from his eyes, he lived in total darkness. He didn't even know when to sleep and when not to sleep. If he was left alone, as little as that may have been, he slept. The door to his cage opened with a loud bang and he instantly awoke from his pained slumber.

"Put it there and you two stay here."

Manilov had entered again, this time with a large bin of water.

"Pour the ice."

He swallowed at setup.

"Release his chains, but do not unbind his hands."

They did so, he fell to the ground with a nasty crunch, his broken leg was most likely shattered now. The two men dragged him to the large tub of water and held his face dangerously.

Without warning, his face was forced in and held there. Some fifteen seconds later, they let him up again. Two seconds for a breather and his face was pushed back into the cold. It was biting into his skin…or lack thereof. His face had still not healed. Whatever bone, muscle, and nerves lay under his skin was exposed to the ice cold water. It was like a thousands knives…each water molecule that hit his face.

They let him up again.

"What do you want from me!" He screamed at them, unable to take the pain any longer.

The malicious laughter echoed though the room.

"We thought it was clear. You have nothing we want. There is nothing you can do to make this stop now. Nothing."

He face was buried in, his screams muffled by the water. He closed his eyes, remembering only to breath here and there. They could no longer break him…there was nothing to break.

He felt a presence in his mind, a bad one. One with red tendrils. Instinctively, he brought his barriers up, a metal blockade to his memories. A shard tried to break him, but he thought of that woman in his dreams, and for some reason, the shard never beat his forces.

"Dammit!" The Shade yelled and broke the wall of his cell.

"Pull him up and let him hang by his arms and legs."

They did so.

He was hanging upside down from a bar, his arms and legs chained around it so he would not fall. A soldier looked at his face, but quickly looked away in disgust. No one wanted to look at him.

"Pour this water on his face till morning."

He took a knife, placing it deftly underneath a crevice in his ear and forcefully pulled upwards slicing it in half on his temple.

Manilov walked away, tapping his ear as left.

"Screams. We want to hear his screams through the day."

And their onslaught of ice cold water poured over his face began. The Shade got his wish. They left him for a few hours.

_Eragon? _

A voice echoed in his mind…it was strangely familiar. And that name…why was it important. He felt as if he should know that person..felt strongly that he had some personal connection.

It must be a trick.

He ignored the plea.

_Eragon Shadeslayer! Are you listening to me? _

He jolted himself awake, and in bewilderment, found himself reaching for that familiar connection as if he had done so many times before and answered.

_Who wants to know? _

_Eragon? Is this you? _

He thought for a moment, was he Eragon? Who was Eragon? That name was lost by him, all he could remember was pain.

_Great love crosses even the shores of death_

_There, thought that band of fabled beauties come,_

_The heroines which the booty of Tyro bestowed upon the heroes of Greece—_

_The beauty of none of these will please me more than yours, Cynthia_

_Are these words familiar to you? _

He frowned, yes they were…somehow.

_Please remember, Eragon. _

_Remember what? _

_Remember me. _

_I do not know who you are. _

_I am your Cynthia._

That name echoed in his mind. _Cynthia. Cynthia. _

It was not Cynthia whom he knew those words were for, but her representative…Arya.

_Arya! _

_Thank fate, you remember me. _

_You cannot be here, leave! _

His memories came flooding back and he slowly began to feeling the longing of flying and being with his one and only love. He wished for Saphira. He longed for the pain to end, but he steeled himself again, stopping the memories from taking over.

_I cannot leave you once I have found you. I did so once, you will never persuade me to do so again. _

_I am lost here. I do not know where I am. He is still here. Leave, Arya! Do not come back here. _

_I cannot and I will not. Do not even think otherwise. _

…_where are you? _

_In Dras-Leona. _

_Why there? _

_Because you are here, in a dungeon. _

_How far away are you? _

_Close enough. _

_Do not come any closer. _

_You cannot convince me. _

_You do not want to see me. _

_Eragon, you are mistaken in how much I truly need to see you. _

A snap of a throat signaled her arrival. She checked briefly for magic on the gate and destroyed the lock. A drum sounded from upstairs and a raged yell signaled Manilov had discovered her intrusion. Arya pushed the gate open quickly and gasped at his sight. He was no longer covered in his tawny golden skin, but a mixed coating of blood, some wounds still oozing, black scabs, and large bruises covering nearly the entirety of his naked body. And his face…his face was no longer with him. He had barely any skin left on his face, it was carved…he was carved like an animal. Rage coursed through her. He was tortured beyond what she thought possible.

"Arya…save yourself."

His voice was strained…hurtful, as if to make the words took a great deal. As if breathing took a great deal.

_It probably did. _She thought ruefully.

"Hush."

She took a blue sword and cut at the chains, slicing them. He would have dropped to the ground had she not caught him from the ground. Wordlessly strapping his Rider's sword to the scabbard on her other side, she lifted him up, and put his weight against her while he was able to keep going. His legs were broken a little, so she fixed the fractures as best as he could so he could run. Breaking out of the sewers where she came in, she whistled to an Elvin horse.

Heaving Eragon into the saddle, she moved up and urged the horse to leave. The malicious Shade yelled out and raised his hand to shout a spell, but she was already anticipating the move. In a smooth motion, using her Elvin flexibility, she bent backwards till she was facing him upside down and released a perfectly aimed arrow. It shot straight through his hand, successfully stopping any attempt to stop them magically. Another move of expertise and she cast their sights invisible as they darted away in stealth.

Nearly a few leagues away, Arya came to a stop and set Eragon down in a clearing near a river.

She took in his appearance. He was bloodied and scarred beyond belief. His entire upper body was carved away, no longer did skin exist.

"Eragon."

She urged him to wake gently, knowing full well the effects of being startled after an ordeal such as this. His eyes snapped open and locked on to hers.

"Is this a dream? I will tell you nothing, Shade." His mouth was moving, but she could not even imagine what he truly looked like any longer.

But his hand was moving slightly to gently stroke her cheek with the back of his bloodied knuckle. She let a tear fall at his broken voice and held his hand to her face. A fierce desire to protect him rose through her.

In the unbreakable Ancient Language, she replied to him, "This is no dream. You are safe now."

"Arya…" But he could say no more.

"Slytha."

The princess had put him to sleep so she could begin the extensive work on healing his mangled body. Taking a soft cloth and dampening in the cool, clean water, she wiped the grime and blood from his body and healed all the open wounds. It was an extensive job, but Saphira had showed her Eragon's Belt of Beloth the Wise and Aren for this trip. Apparently, Eragon took Aren off occasionally when his hand hurt from its tight fitting because of his calloused hands.

Her first task was regrowing his skin. She could not do all seven layers, but at least half some would have to cover or else they would run the risk of massive infection.

Her energy was running low, but she had plenty between the excess in his gems. Eragon did a remarkable job storing energy in those gems. She had nearly ten to fifteen times her maximum capacity.

The skin swept over, pink and raw, like human skin just beginning to heal. The other dried scabs faded into small scars. The cut on his ear sealed together, scabbing at the end where a piece was undoubtedly lost.

She cursed that Shade to the depths of evil from which it arose from what it did to him. Knife wounds, thousands of them, raked his body. There was not a mark left untouched by scars or worse…scabs. Arya inspected him further. Infection could be a likely possibility, especially in very sensitive areas like his groin area.

She bit her lip. It was not as if he wasn't quite an attractive man. Sighing, she pushed the cloth down further and revealed his most intimate parts. Again anger coursed through her as she saw the damage. He was truly skinned alive. She reworked the skin there too.

There were cuts running so deep, it almost seemed as if his body was severed in two. She kept herself from crying out as she inspected for further wounds. Her hearing picked up movement a league away. Satisfied with herself, she pulled a pair of breeches on him and forced a tunic down.

Calling her trusty Elvin steed, she hauled him up and had him lean back in her arms so he wouldn't fall. She would not wake him…not for a long time. The horse tired when they were halfway across to Feinster. He had to rest and Arya did not blame him, her sleep however, was better put off.

With a little prompting, she pushed herself to have Eragon awaken.

His eyes became groggy again and for a moment he feared he was back. Sitting up with a jolt, he saw who his captor was and sagged down in relief.

"Thank you, Arya svit-kona, for coming."

Her eyes held him in sorrow. His body still pained him, but not as much as before. The tips of his ears reddened as he realized she must have healed him…all of him.

"I am sorry for my appearance."

Her eyes narrowed.

"You are sorry for being tortured while stripped of your clothes."

"I did not wish such a ghastly apparition on your eyes."

She sighed deeply, "When will you learn to stop protecting me?"

He looked down, afraid she might know.

"And yes, I do know. Saphira and I talked at length about your absolute ridiculous behavior and statement."

He took a while to realize what it was.

"Thank you for coming."

"What did they do to you? Your wounds can only say so much."

Eragon shook his head, feeling his face. To his joy, he felt nothing but skin there.

"How long was I there?"

Her eyes filled with sadness once again.

"Three and a half months…I could not find for you three and a half months." Her voice cracked, "I did not see you for three and a half months."

He gritted his teeth and made his way over to her, sinking down with a grace he had to abandon. Apologizing for moving so roughly against her, for he did jar her slightly with his uncoordinated movements.

"I can only imagine how peaceful those three and a half months are."

Her eyes flashed in anger as she took him in.

"Merely because you are in unfortunate condition, do not think I will not bring my anger against your remarks. Your last words to me have yet to fade away."

"Arya."

She turned to look at him, slightly alarmed at the desperation on his voice. And before he knew what the was doing, he tilted her chin upwards and brought his lips to hers with a desire he did not know possible.

It seemed like electricity arched through them, feeding them with passion, jolting them so all they could do was want more and more of it.

Her hand scrambled against his chest, snaking around him and pulling him closer.

"Ah!"

He clutched his back in pain and Arya instantly moved away.

"I am sor-"

"I am sor-"

They both started at the same time.

"I am sorry for hurting you. I was not thinking quite clearly, Eragon."

"You were not the only one."

She regarded him with an annoyed expression.

"You may not like to hear this, but I thought of you. I couldn't remember your name, but you were always there."

He fell silent once more, quailing under her guarded expression.

"I am sorry for acting the way I did. I crossed boundaries."

She closed her eyes, stopping the look of incredulousness on her face.

"What boundaries? Surely you know by now."

He moved closer, unable to take the separation. But she did not mind, rather, she grasped his hand, urging him to come closer to her as they huddled around the fire.

"Eragon, I lived for three and a half months in the wild like this trying to find you. I raided nearly every jail in every city and more. I risked being disowned by my mother a thousand times. Even Nasuada said she would remove me from my position of power if I did not stop searching for you."

"Why did you?"

"I love you. I had to find you."

Her simple words were enough to erase all the horrid memories away. Sighing in contentment, he rested his head in the crook of her neck, moving his lips lightly over the taut skin there, biting and nipping a little as he saw fit. Her hands came up to hold his chest to her, resting her head against his, tears flowing down her cheek in relief that she had found him.

"I cannot believe you asked me to leave you there."

He lifted his head up, capturing her lips just because he could.

"I love you too much to let you be in danger on my account."

"What did you say?"

"I do not want you to be in danger on my account."

"No, before that."

He smiled at her.

"I love you."

Her eyes closed, "And to think once I resented you saying those words to me."

"You know why I changed? Because I wanted to be someone who you could love."

She nuzzled his nose, moving her hands over the numerous scars on his face and patches on his face.

"I loved who you were, I love who you are. It did not matter if I could read your emotions or not, you will always be the same. The same one who has impeccable morals, a sense of humor that never fails to make me smile, thoughtfulness enough to comfort me, and a heart big enough to forgive even the most horrid of mistakes."

Her words endeared him, and suddenly he felt the past months of torture were worth it because he was finally able to love her.

"I have trouble believing, Arya, that I am fortunate enough to be loved by you."

"Do not let it trouble you longer."

He shuddered against her body, the crisp cold air taking more out of him with the painful scars than he realized. She noticed his predicament and pulled a blanket out of the forgotten saddle that lay at her side. Deftly unfolding the material, she placed the wool cloth above them and let it float over their bodies, warming them instantly.

"Arya. I do not want to sleep."

"You must rest, you have been through a terrible ordeal. No one else could have survived the torture you have just endured."

"I am afraid." He admitted silently.

"Afraid of what?"

Her hand came up to curve around his back. He was on top of her, his head still buried in the crook of her neck, his breath hot and moist on her pale skin. One hand came underneath her back, nearly crushing them together, and the other strong arm of his came up underneath her shoulders, the hand splayed on the nape on her neck, supporting her as if she was his new born babe.

In a sense, she was like that to him. A new born babe in that he loved her unconditionally. Her attempts to deter her fazed him little. Instead, all she succeeded in doing is prolong her eventual caving to his persuasions. Any other man, human or Elvin, would have not even glanced in her direction a second time, let alone continue to love her, and yet he had. Not once, but many times. And when she rejected him, he continued to stand by her as a friend, eager to simply spend time with her.

Her mind quickly went back to her question, and when he did not answer, she became worried. Her arm curved around his back underneath the blankets, staying high up, comforting him. Her other hand curved in his hair, scraping his scalp gently to soothe his wandering mind. Really, it was not only enjoyable to him. The feel of his long brown locks of hair, unkempt and wild beneath her fingers excited her.

She loved his hair, truly loved it. The chocolate brown hair was lighter where it burnt from flying so close to the sun. The darker brown locks were kept underneath, their thick, almost ray like manner. And he wore it longer than most human men. It reached his neck and framed his face. She could run her hands through and the same strands would run for nearly a few inches.

He sighed contently as her nails continued to rake across his scalp gently.

"What fears you, Eragon?"

Burying his head in her neck even deeper, he whispered hot against her skin.

"I fear that when I wake, I shall be back in that dungeon, and this will all have been a dream."

"This is no dream and I have no intention of letting you fall back into that Shade's clutches."

Her voice was soft, but Eragon could hear the undertones of ferocity in her Ancient Language. And slowly, he let the elation in heart course through his body erupting into a magnificent smile on his face, one he knew she had felt across her neck for she tightened her hold on him and lightly kissed his head.

"I love you, Arya."

His voice faded off as he let himself succumb to sleep. He had precious little in the past months, he kept himself from sleeping, knowing that his mental functions would be retained, and with that his memory and desire to escape.

A constant wet drop on the back of his neck woke him and for a moment he feared he was back in the dungeons, the leaking of water from the cracks in the cement above him finally making its way over to his usual spot in the corner.

He awoke slowly, unwanting to open his eyes to see if it were true, and that Arya truly did not find him.

But the brightness of the sun, a foreign sight, wiped the thought from his mind. His arms tightened involuntary and he realized he had not moved from his tight grip around her. Chastising himself for what clearly could not be comfortable for her, he lifted his body up off of her. Her hands, however, remained woven around the curls of his hair. Smiling, he gently removed her grip on them.

Walking over to a small pond, he looked at his reflection and cringed. His entire face was covered in scars and he felt ashamed even holding the princess in his present state. His face was slightly pink, raw, a tell tale sign that he was actually skinned alive like an animal. In vain, he brought his hands to his face and drew upon that magic source so familiar to him and began to work at the imperfections. He had no need to rid himself of excessive amounts of facial hair. Manilov often did the job for him, cutting his mouth, chin, cheeks, and jaw as he made sure he was 'presentable.' Of course, the blade seldom took only facial hair with it.

The scars faded slowly away. He sighed and too his tunic off to examine the rest of his body. His disgust at his scarred frame caused him to violently tear his eyes away from his reflection.

"They are a symbol of all you have endured. Something to be proud of, not ashamed. They will heal and leave no trace on your body."

"I am sorry such an ugly apparition even fell sight to your beautiful eyes."

His eyes turned away in shame that he ever pressed his case with her looking like that. He cringed again as he remembered he kissed her with his face marred so badly.

A pair of soft arms curved around his muscled abdomen and a light head rested in between his shoulder blades.

"An ugly apparition? I hardly think so. You standing in the sun after months away from my eyes, alive and well, an ugly apparition? Nay, it is one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen, but not nearly as beautiful as the man I love."

He chuckled, "That man must be one lucky man." But he was already clutching those lithe arms to him.

His joke led to a chaste kiss over a scar running straight through his shoulder blades. A warm sensation filled his body as her magic flew through, reducing the patchy areas to their usual tawny color, and the scars to mere lines.

"I cannot possibly determine how fortunate he may be, but it is for certain he brings fortune wherever he goes."

Eragon turned in her embrace and brought his arms like two steel bands across her back, clutching her to him as if she was his life.

"Scars have no meaning to be. You have always been a handsome man, and you shall always be a handsome man in my eyes."

She ran her hand down the uneven planes on his back, anger rising at exactly how many smooth skin lines raked across.

"We should leave, Eragon. It is getting late in the day and we do not know who is on our tail."

"Of course."

She pulled out of his embrace first, handing him his tunic and Brisingr. He caught her hand, pulling her close. With a naughty smile she was so fond of, he locked his lips to hers, unabashedly taking her a willing prisoner.

He pulled away breathlessly.

"What was that for?"

"Because I can."

He smiled on her lips, kissing her one last time before she insisted that they must leave.

Swinging herself into the saddle, she waited for Eragon to mount himself behind her. He had no idea where they were going, and considering he was inches taller than her, she could not see if he was in front. Leading the horse towards Feinster, but away from the main paths, Arya gripped the reins tightly and urged the horse faster to their destination. The Elvin princess wanted to make the entire distance to Feinster. Their trail could be easily discovered because of Eragon's blood on the ground. She tried to mask it as best as possible, but she could only do so much with the potent smell. They had to get to the port city or else they would be discovered tonight.

He seemed to share her urgency to move quickly across the plains, but his mind was already being ravaged at. The memories he could not stop from emerging in his mind caused him to wince in abnormal pain.

Arya brought the horse to a stop in a small clearing with the water running next to them at nearly nightfall. The Elvin horse was tiring with two fully grown adults on his back and he needed at least an hour's rest.

His companion's involuntary shivering promoted him to make a small fire. He leaned against a tree trunk, closing his eyes with the pain.

"Take off your tunic."

He smirked at her, knowing his comment would undoubtedly get him into trouble. But, hell, he loved her anger. That fiery flash in her eyes served to ignite his body exponentially.

"If you would like to consummate our love so early in our relationship, I have no problem with it. But perhaps a little forewarning would have been nice, so I could at least plan in my anticipation."

He opened his eyes to see her narrowed expression. It was, however, short lived as a knowing smile crept on her features and she looked away, the tips of her ears red. He chuckled at her embarrassment, enjoying their playful banter. Heaving his pained body from the ground he lifted his long tunic off his body and walked to her, his head held down.

"I was merely jesting, Arya. I truly have no intention of doing anything of the sort. In fact, I do not even think I would be able to."

The Elvin princess shook her head, a tentative smile as a compromise between his jest and the reminder of his terrible ordeal.

He loved he could do that, make her smile with offhand comments. As he carefully folded the tunic and shoved it in the saddle, he felt two delicate arms turn him around. A hand gently caressed his entire torso, looking over the dark scars that marred his tawny skin.

"You do not have to look, Arya. I will take care of them. I do not wish for such…marks to remain longer than necessary."

She said nothing to his remark, instead drawing herself closer to his body and muttering a soft chant to heal the somewhat raw skin that lay underneath the scars. The unhealed wounds that caused him pain. He sighed in relief at the dull throbbing finally subsided.

Dark brown lines remained, but her chest was heaving as she tried to regain her breath with the overexertion on her part. He caught her in his strong arms as she threatened to fall over and poured what little energy he could access without putting too much strain into her body.

She steadied herself instantly, but made no move to break away from his embrace.

"Do not ever think me so shallow as to assume I would hate to look at your scars because you deem them ugly. I hate looking at them because they serve as a reminder that you were injured. I hate looking at them because they remind you of the hell you experienced. Not because they are ugly, never that."

Her arms clasped around his tighter as she rested her head over his beating heart, kissing a particularly jagged cut yet to fade.

The fire grew to a formidable companion, and the pair found themselves sitting against a log while their four legged friend rested his weary legs. She sat, her head resting against his shoulder, a careless arm strung over his toned abdomen, hands splayed across the seemingly rock like skin, his arm around her body, pulling her closer.

"Elvin men have softer muscles. Even toned, they are not hard to touch. I used to sleep on my father when I was little."

"I am sorry for that." But he made no move to let her go.

"Actually, I fear I am rather fond of harder surfaces. I could never sleep well on a soft surface. I always chose the harder mattress. My mother called it once a rock when she sat on it."

"I am glad then."

He felt her head shift as she gazed at him. His eyes were closed as he savored the feeling of her against him.

"I thought you found peace in looking at the flames. Why do you not look at them?"

He smiled, "I no longer require anything but you to bring me peace."

Her lips faintly touched his jaw line, but her expression hardened and at once the Elvin warrior princess returned to her body demeanor. She sat up, leaned away from him, bringing her legs to her chest and resting her chin on her knees as she looked away.

He lifted a tentative hand to pull her back, desiring her presence next to him, but he thought better of forcing her into anything.

"Arya, what is wrong?"

"I am a distraction to you. This cannot continue if you want to remain safe in battle."

He could not take the distance between them, instead he rested his forehead on her shoulder. Arya did not move away from him, but rather in a softer voice, reminded him it was dangerous.

"You know I love you. I cannot deter my feelings simply because you say we cannot be together. You and I have both tried that. I will always look to your safety first."

She shook her head, "I made the mistake of letting you put my life first when that Manilov attacked us. It was logical that I go, not you, never you. You are far more important to the Varden and to Alagaesia than I am. I should have never let you go."

"You keep saying I am more important, but you fail to realize how important you are. Without you, the elves would retreat to Du Weldonvarden, pulling out their support and we would surely lose. You are their future Queen. Not to mention, Arya, I need you. You are more important to me than the Varden, than Alagaesia, than my own life. In any case, he would have killed you if you were captured, not me. He cannot kill me."

"It should not be that way." She reprimanded him.

"Then tell me what to do."

She turned her head in his direction.

"Tell me what to do, Arya. And I shall do it. If you want to remain as we were, so be it, I shall remain in the bounds of friendship. If you want to never speak to me again, so be it. I will do as you ask."

"You would never speak to me as a friend again, if I asked you to?"

His hand tightened on her arm, willing her not to chose that option.

"If you wanted it, yes."

"I do not."

He sighed in relief and pulled away, leaning back against the log.

"Then we shall remain friends as you desire."

"I do not."

He looked at her small frame and for once he noticed exactly how much bigger he was compared to her. She looked, somehow, childlike in her curled position, as if protecting herself from something.

"I cannot go back, Eragon. My heart does not will it. I have gone against my Elvin customs and ideals of not acting upon a heart's desire. We do not believe in it. But I cannot go back now. No matter how many times I may try to forget the chaste kisses of our first encounter, I cannot."

She looked at him, "You have burned me, Eragon. And I cannot heal from it."

He glanced away, "You say it as if it is a bad thing."

"It is." She admitted, "But I have never felt so strongly that I have made the right decision. My logic has been severely hindered by the magnitude of these emotions."

He sighed, dreading the words about to leave his mouth.

"Arya, I only wish to be with you if you will it."

"I more than will it, Shur'tugal. I embrace it. It is no longer a choice for me."

And she went back into his arms, holding him tightly for warmth under the cool fall breeze. She tilted his head down, methodically moving her lips fervently over his.

"Rest for an hour or so, Eragon. We have traveled far and we still have a ways to go. But my trusty Elvin companion has grown tired with the extent I have been driving him these past days."

He murmured his agreement, already feeling the weariness travel through him.

"What is his name?"

"Evlon."

"A fine name."

"Sleep, Rider. Your weariness worries me."

"Stay with me."

"Rest, Eragon. I shall not be far. You must eat something for your strength. I will be back shortly."

A twinge of fear rose in him. He was not sure why, but before he could protest, she muttered "Slytha" sending him into the abyss of his dreams.

The first memories were the worst. It was not the pain… he could take the pain, but rather the sinking notion that he was back in the place he dreaded the most. Back in the hell Manilov had created for him. He tried to open his eyes, praying to feel the heat of the sun against his face, but no matter how hard he tried, all he felt was the heat from the burning metal edging closer and closer to his body.

It progressively went worse and soon he found himself hanging upside, his arms and legs tied up to a rod above him. They put cotton over his face, only letting his eyes see the buckets and buckets of water they poured on him. It simulated drowning…and it was working. He screamed and screamed, but all his attempts were muffled.

"_Eragon!" _

What was that voice? He was hallucinating, all he could feel was the water splashing on his face.

"_Eragon!" _

Again. A hand hit his face. Perhaps Manilov was resorting to good old punching.

Another slap.

"_Open your eyes!" _

"_Barzul! Eragon, let me in!"_

It must have been Manilov playing a trick to get in his mind, must have been to find out his secrets. He fortified his defenses again. But to no avail.

A sharp dagger pierced his mind and he cried out. All three months and a half of suffering gone to waste because he was not strong enough.

The penetration cleared his head and he was left blank. He stopped resisting, unsure why there was a feeling so warm and endearing coursing through his mind, and he flipped his eyes open.

Dark green emeralds greeted his sight. He blinked a few times, taking in his surroundings. Trying to move his hands, he found himself pinned underneath the Elvin princess's strong arms. He took gasping breaths, trying to catch himself as the memories of the last days came flooding back to him.

"What happened, Eragon?"

He shook his head. He would not tell her. He could not.

"What did they do to you?"

He shook his head again. Adamant.

"Eragon! I tried everything. Prodding you, splashing water on you, hitting you forcefully, but nothing! Nothing could wake you. Instead, you resisted even more, falling deeper and deeper in your dream."

Her chest fell and rose as if labored. It seemed to take her energy to wake him up.

"You blocked me out. I could not see what they did to you."

He looked away, "There is no need to talk about something I would rather forget."

Her eyes flashed in anger as she lifted herself up, dropped a bag of nuts and fruits she scavenged for and left him to sit at the river bank.

Gratefully, he picked up the sack of nutrients and went to go sit by her.

"I am sorry, Arya."

She failed to look at him.

"I was scared. I could not wake you. You were about to roll into the fire, and I still could not wake you. What did they do to you that even water causes you to flinch?"

He sighed deeply.

"You do not want to hear, Arya. I would not want you to hear it."

"When will you learn to stop protecting me? I need to know."

"Why?"

Her eyes flashed with anger.

"I need to know exactly how much torture to put them through we next meet."

"Arya…" 

"What did they do to you?"

He could deny her nothing.

"That particular form of…treatment was perfected one month into my capture. Galbatorix had no need to see me while Saphira was not making herself appear. So, Manilov used me as a 'test subject' on how various torture methods worked. They simulated drowning me. I was held upside down, my hands and feet tied to a burning rod. They only let my eyes be uncovered, everything else was tied shut. And they poured water on me, bucket after bucket, hour after hour. I could barely breath."

Arya closed her eyes.

"What else?"

"He took a knife…and cut me everywhere. Deeply, actually. Not enough to kill, but enough to make the blood never stop. There were things with burning rods. He carved his name on my leg once. But that is gone now. And…and the skinning. A razor blade and shaved my skin off my face and torso. That was the worst of it."

A long breath shuddered through her.

"I now see that I was the lucky one to have been captured when I did. They had not thought to improve their methods. Mere whippings and burnings were all they had."

He cringed as he moved closer, his dreams made the old wounds seem a little fresh with his senses on end. Putting his arm around her, he smiled in spite of the situation at how she melted against him, her unbreakable barriers evaporating when he neared.

Kissing the top of her head, he told her, "I know not what hope you had when they captured you. Or for what purpose or even whom you thought of to keep you strong. But I thought of you and Saphira and somehow, I was able to keep myself in check. They did not break my mind, they know nothing from me. I had love to keep my barriers strong. Yet you remained strong with neither of these. You are far stronger than I was."

Her eyes captured his in a long meaningful look before her lips found his in a chaste kiss, not nearly as passionate as their earlier encounters, but even more significant.

"I wish I had found you sooner."

"Arya, please do not leave me. I am not strong enough to fight these dreams without you by my side."

She averted her eyes before she ruefully admitted, "As if I am strong enough to leave knowing the danger of leaving you alone."

Standing up, she pulled him to his feet, walking closer to him than she would have normally allowed.

Evlon stood up on his feet, rearing back to signal he was ready to depart. Arya swiftly jumped in place and held the reins until Eragon came up behind her with not nearly as much grace. He took the reins from her hands, knowing she would protest.

"Eragon, I am perfectly capable of maintaining control over the reins. I need not have it done for me."

He smiled, perhaps not much will have changed even if they loved each other openly.

"I had no intention of thinking otherwise. I merely thought you would be tired with expending your energy to heal my scars and scavenging for food, and not to mention breaking into my mind to stop the hell that arises within me. Sleep for a while, I know where we are. But you must rest, you too turned your back on resting while I have rested."

"That can hardly be considered resting."

"My mind may have been in havoc, but my body was rested."

"Eragon…"

He kissed her neck, nipping at the soft skin as she leaned back in his arms.

"Sleep, Arya."

She closed her eyes, letting the past months of true sleeplessness take her waking mind. The fact she did not even require the induced sleep of the elves should have been a sign that she was overexerting her body, but her mind had already been silenced with drowsiness.

The Rider savored the feel of the Elvin princess in his arms, trusting him to lead the way even when she was so fiercely independent. His nightmares always resurfaced when she was not near, how he hated the feeling.

Involuntarily, his arms tightened around the love in his arms. He waited with baited breath, he could not wait to find Saphira. One day in his right mind already had him seeking out the farthest of boundaries until his soul mate could be found. Slowly, he leaned Arya back in his arms so she wouldn't bounce with the speed Evlon was taking them with. Gently kissing her the top of her head, he whispered that he loved her, a small smile flickered across her face before blank once again.

The sun was nearing the end of its regime for the day. The moon was steadily rising to his left. It was full tonight…the wolves would be on the prowl. Evlon seemed to sense their hungry minds and sped up through the thicket of the forest, slowing down to a fast gallop from a sprint only in the open fields where they could not be jumped by those pack animals. Eragon did his best to lead them away from their position, but even true control could be thwarted by sheer willpower. How long, however, was yet to be determined.

He heard a howl in the distance, similar to the ones he heard when in the dungeon. It was his only notion that a world outside of his existed, and that a day had passed. He gritted his teeth, forcing the memories away and concentrating only one his savior in front of him. He felt ashamed as he realized he had pushed her away. The length she had resorted to in order to save him from drowning (quite literally) in his memories were enormous. He tightened his arms again, turning his head into the crook of her neck as a wave of love threatened to overwhelm him. His arms went limp with the long reins and rested against on her thighs. She nestled against his body, a smile splaying her features. He was glad it was a good dream she was having. Against his better judgment, and if Arya ever found out, she would have his head, he let one hand off the reins and came to possessively splay over her abdomen, pinning her in between his arm and his body.

If she criticized his movements later, he would not mind. He was sure he could get away with a little here and there for she placed her hands over his arm, holding him to her.

Maybe he was not the only who displayed his love through physical actions. He nuzzled her hair.

A snort of Evlon signaled he was not happy with the lack of attention the Rider was placing on where they were going. He had avoided a few tricky places on his own, but he made it clear he was not going to let himself be the only one watching for they were heading.

He chuckled silently, Arya had picked the perfect horse for herself. Intelligent, proud, strong, skilled…just like her. She would never be bored with a companion as intelligent and vocal as Evlon was.

The moon was at its highest when the last of the forest edged away past them. It was now a straight shot for the next few hours to Feinster. Evlon knew the worst had past them and picked up the pace as the land opened up. He feared no attacks any longer. Within the hour, Eragon saw Feinster. It was the wee hours of the morning. Only the guard saw who was approaching. He signaled who he was, stated his affairs and gently woke up Arya to ensure no one was the wiser of their relationship.

_ERAGON! _

He smiled as he let his link find its companion.

_Why did you not look for me sooner? I have been waiting for days. _

He was scared as to what she would do once she had his memories.

She demanded the answer, barely giving him time to think as her body raised itself against the moon and heading directly towards him. The soldiers scattered out of the way, but Eragon jumped and swung himself into the area near her collar bone. It was his special spot after all. She held him, her neck craning around him, locking him to her.

_Thank you, Arya. Thank you for bringing him back to me. I do not know what I would have done. _

_Neither would I, Bjartskular. All I know is that your precious Rider is even more dear to me than before. _

Saphira smiled knowingly and brought her long snout to the princess's brow.

"It is late and we need our rest for tomorrow. The king will not be happy to discover the Shadeslayer is out of his clutches."

Saphira sent her agreement.

_Ride with me and sleep on your bed. I will drop you to the balcony of your room. _

_But…_

_Your body is tired, Eragon. You must rest for the next few days. _

_Nasuada…_

_Will be informed in the morning instead of this ungodly hour._

She said even more silently to him.

_If the memories arising in your head are any indication of the ordeal you have just surpassed, a few days may not be enough. _

_I am fine, Saphira. _

_Nay, Little one. You do not recover from such so quickly. I will have his head before the end of the year._

He moved into her saddle, nearly falling asleep in his place. Saphira dropped him off by the balcony. He did indeed need rest, but before that, a wash was in order. He moved himself to the wash closet, pouring the much needed liquid over his body in the way he saw fit. No matter what he could not bring himself to wash his face with it. Not yet anyway. It still felt like drowning.

A knock sounded on his door. He pulled himself together and took a pair of the cotton Elvin pants.

"Eragon?"

He smiled before opening the door. He did not exactly care that he was only in his pants, after all, that was more than Arya had seen him in. Opening the door, the furtive gaze of the Elvin princess met his eyes. Her sight flicked to a small bead of water traveling down his chest. She glanced around outside and pushed him in.

Turning and bolting the door, she returned his gaze.

He took one step before his lips were on hers, soft and pliant against her. Only for her was he a willing prisoner.

"Arya…" he groaned against her mouth, and she regretfully pulled away.

"Will you not ask why I am here?"

He held her face gently in his hands, marveling at how for one so independent, she allowed such physical affection.

"You never need a reason to be here."

A ghost of a smile touched her lips before vanishing.

"I am unsure of leaving you here unattended. I fear you may thrash about in your dreams again, and I do not want to waste the night thinking of the possible ways you could harm yourself."

"Always looking after me."

He joked.

"Someone has to since you have obviously been so careless in doing so."

As soon as the words left her mouth, she seemed to regret it.

"Eragon, forgive me. I never meant to…"

"You are quite right. I never think of myself during a battle, and I often place myself in more danger situations than necessary. But no matter, it is a mistake easily fixed."

She sighed and dropped her head on his chest.

"I could not sleep, Rider. My body, for some reason or the other, has decided it cannot find a comfortable position alone."

She held him tighter, her arms holding him closer.

"After Gil'ead, the nightmares stayed with me. I still have them, though not as often. When I stayed with you, while you rested, you did not have any. I assumed, perhaps, that I could protect you from that particular side effect of such an ordeal."

"Stay with me, please."

She sighed, "I have no choice. My better judgment is impaired by what I can only deem love."

He smiled at her, his expression turning naughty.

"Are you saying you love me?"

She caught her breath before replying. "I already have told you how I feel for you. I need to have such a wayward way of telling you again."

His smiled widen. Normally, he supposed, most people would never even consider smiling after such a terrifying ordeal, but he was healing quickly. And it had everything to do with the Elvin princess in his arms.

"I love you, Arya Drottningu."

She nudged his nose with hers, darting her eyes between his own and his mouth.

"Why must you repeat it so often?"

"I know not. I just feel constricted if I do not."

She leaned closer in his arms.

"I love you, Eragon. And do not forget it so soon." She looked away, "I am uncomfortable with these open expressions."

"You needn't ever explain yourself to me, Arya. And neither will I ever wish you to change. I love you as you are, unconditionally and eternally."

"How are we even remotely compatible, Eragon? We are different."

"A relationship with two people with trouble expressing themselves is cause to worry. But you know all I am feeling and thinking and even if you do not tell me, I do know what you are feeling and thinking. We will make this work, Arya. Please trust me."

She smiled and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. "With my life, Shadeslayer, with my life."

Taking his hand gently in hers, she pulled the cloak off and led him to the cold, crisp sheets. He was left staring after her, a long, fluid gown reaching far past her ankles. Her shoulders were left bare and the neckline curved into a long V stretching far past he deemed comfortable. She noticed his obvious hesitation to sleep next to her.

"I trust you not to do anything I would resent you for later. Little as that may be."

She muttered the last part to herself, obviously not wanting to voice it too loudly.

"You may trust me, but I fear I do not trust myself."

He stepped towards her encouraged by a smile of hers. She knew the effect she had on him and she was thoroughly enjoying every moment of it. He slid under the covers next to her, placing a tentative arm around her waist. For once, she allowed the closeness, and even turned in his strong arms draping herself over his chest.

"It is cold." She justified.

He gently rubbed her upper arms hoping to warm her, she seemed to smile gratefully before sending herself into her induced state of sleep.

He laid awake hours later, unsure of how he was to approach sleeping to prevent his nightmares. But even his weariness was wearing him thin and he feel asleep shortly after his contemplation.

The nightmares plagued him less as the nights wore on. They never went away, but rather were silenced by Arya's constant presence. He loved that she stayed with him every night. Their attachment to each other may have exceeded the normal pace of growing affection, but neither seemed to care about technicalities much. It was far more pleasant to let their relationship carry forth well. He may never live to see peace, but Eragon knew with his love by his side, the end of his days would be the happiest of his life.


End file.
